


TENTH STREET REDS

by spicyshimmy



Series: EARTHBORN [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicyshimmy/pseuds/spicyshimmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU spawned from reading a kinkmeme prompt incorrectly. Earthborn orphan John Shepard and rich-kid Kaidan Alenko--fresh out of a bad experience in 'brain camp'--meet in Vancouver during the former's time as a member of the Tenth Street Reds. Shepard doesn't scare Kaidan off with his dancing, and that has to mean something. <i>The first thing Shepard noticed was his ass. All the rest fell into place after that, even with the strobing club lights making it hard to see. Shepard knew his whole story in two seconds, maybe less, a personal system he’d developed for not getting screwed over by strangers while they were doing business together.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. SHEPARD

The first thing Shepard noticed was his ass.

All the rest fell into place after that, even with the strobing club lights making it hard to see. Shepard knew his whole story in two seconds, maybe less, a personal system he’d developed for not getting screwed over by strangers while they were doing business together.

Yeah. ‘ _Business._ ’

It happened a lot, about as much as you’d guess. So pretty much always.

Figuring people out, knowing what their deal was just from looking them up and down, wasn’t a natural gift. It took time, patience, hard work and quick eyes. And also the desire not to get screwed over. If you had enough of that in the right combination, suddenly, it was easier than it sounded.

It was a pretty nice ass but the rest of him was trouble. He was obviously one of those rich earthborn kids who’d never had to choke down a moldy old protein that tasted like krogan shit, who went to a private school with a long, tired name, everything paid for by mom and dad, while _he_ had too much free time to think about how tough his life was or something.

‘Quit it for like, _two seconds_ , Shep,’ Finch said. ‘Flirt on your _own_ damn time for a change. Don’t screw this up.’

‘Hey, I was just looking,’ Shepard said.

He was also wondering what a nice rich kid like that was doing in a club like this. Slumming it, probably. Living on the edge. Wanting to see somebody get shot or arrested and hauled off, the thrill that came with it. The adrenaline rush.

From New York to Vancouver, it was always the same.

And Finch was sweating like he was sixty instead of sixteen, breathing harder than a volus. Shepard threw an arm around him and steered him toward some of the private seating so he’d stop ruining the ambiance of the place, leaving the dance floor behind.

The club was called _Inferno_ but the closest it came to what it promised was sweaty dancers, none of them so hot they were actually about to burn up.

The asari they were supposed to meet for their cut of the job was late—and Finch was gonna vaporize if he kept thinking about it. There was only so much a guy could sweat, and Shepard wasn’t interested in probing those limits _or_ slipping in the puddle they made. His bruised ribs weren’t giving him as much trouble as he thought; if Finch could just relax and enjoy the view for a while, he’d be a lot happier as a person.

So would Shepard.

So would the bouncer watching them.

‘Pretty sure we’ve been made,’ Shepard said, reaching for somebody’s abandoned drink, bright blue in a tall glass. He downed it and almost choked. It tasted worse than dinner last night, the same sweet blue of the coloring in the liquid. ‘Go find somebody to dance with, Finch.’

‘Like you weren’t hoping that’d happen all along.’ Finch scanned the crowd and picked out the bouncer, shoulders twitching before he looked away. ‘How is it things always work out so well for _you_ , anyway?’

‘Hey,’ Shepard said. ‘ _I’m_ the one with the busted ribs.’

‘Could be worse.’ Finch rubbed the fading bruise on his cheekbone, the cut they’d stolen medigel to treat before it got infected. ‘Have fun. I know you will anyway, so whatever.’

‘What’s that say about your outlook on life, Finch?’ Shepard asked, already backing away through the crowd. ‘Maybe you should think about that while _I’m_ off having a blast.’

It was dark in the club, but not so dark that Shepard couldn’t see it when Finch rolled his eyes. Under the strobes, it looked like he was having a fit or an allergic reaction to dextro-proteins. It was pretty common these days—put enough starving kids around supplies the Alliance had brokered for their turian allies and you wound up with a lot of sick humans.

Luckily, no one looked twice at that kind of thing in a club. You could drop dead in the middle of _Inferno_ and the asari would go right on dancing. There was something almost poetic about that, Shepard thought. For a species that might appreciate poetry, anyway.  

Not any earthborn; not these days. He’d heard some stuff about the hanar, though, and he was willing to try it out—if he had to.

The rich kid was still there, dancing near a group of mercs. If the job had gone through like it was supposed to and Shepard had the credits to lay down, he’d have been willing to bet _he_ didn’t knowthey were mercs. He was like anyone else, drawn in by their shiny armor and the way the drinks kept coming. Maybe he even liked the look of the blonde in the middle—without having the experience to know she was the craziest of the bunch, and bloodthirsty as a vorcha with her back against the wall.

A guy heard things in the Reds. And none of it was good for breaking the ice with Little Lord Stanley Park over there.

Shepard wasn’t about to win him over with his dancing, either. So he went with a classic.

‘Come here often?’ It took some doing—and the pain in his chest helped—but Shepard managed to keep his hands from flying up over his head as he fit himself into the natural rhythm, stepping in time where the bodies were packed close together. Some would say too close, bumping elbows with all kinds of people, but it wasn’t anything worse than what Shepard saw every other day. Somebody stepped on his toes. He let them, and let the fight happen somewhere else.

The kid blinked. He was older than Shepard had pegged him for at the beginning of the night, almost too old to be caught up in the mystique of a place like _Inferno_.

‘Yeah. I _was_ talking to you,’ Shepard said, because the clarification was necessary, and there was a look on Stanley Park’s face like _Who, me?_ ‘Let me guess—it’s your first time, right?’

‘No, actually.’ He didn’t raise his voice to be heard over the music, a deep beat they were both following. Tentative, though. Shepard, at least, was moving closer more than he was pulling back, but the same couldn’t be said for his new friend Stanley. ‘It’s not.’

‘Could’ve fooled me.’ Shepard had to jam his hands into his pockets in order to keep his arms from going up in the air when the music swelled, the bass steady. ‘Doesn’t look like this is your kind of place.’

‘Sorry—do I _know_ you?’ Stanley asked.

Shepard had to get another name for him. Dark eyebrows, big eyes, fussy kind of mouth Shepard couldn’t stop staring at—Stanley didn’t suit him at all. Not as well as what he was wearing, clothes just as fussy as his mouth, but it looked good on him all the same.

‘Not yet you don’t,’ Shepard said. ‘I was hoping we could fix that when I asked for your name and got you a drink.’

The kid blinked again. His mouth forgot to be fussy, just for a second, lips parted.

Then, he arched a brow, Shepard moving in closer. He knew the type. His manners were too good, a different set of reflexes and instincts he wouldn’t be able to resist when the right buttons got pushed, or when the right wires were crossed.

‘Shepard,’ Shepard said.

‘Kaidan,’ Stanley replied. The muscle in his jaw tightened, the corner of his eye crinkling. ‘…Wow, okay, so _that_ worked.’

‘Hell yeah it did.’ Shepard snagged one of the drinks on its way by—and fortunately it wasn’t one of the blue ones. ‘And here’s the drink I promised you, too. Don’t say I never gave you anything.’

‘Maybe that’s what I’m trying to avoid,’ Kaidan said, but he took the drink anyway. He even brought it up to his face to sniff it and Shepard couldn’t help it; he had to laugh.

‘That was cute,’ he said. ‘Go ahead, drink it. It’s on me.’

‘Actually…’ Kaidan paused, like he already knew deep down he was going to keep talking, but it was worth it to pretend to himself he might not anyway. ‘You just took it. Off that tray. You didn’t _really_ —’

‘Details.’ Shepard’s hip bumped his and he nearly spilled the drink. He was jumpy, or maybe just tense, something Shepard couldn’t figure out. That made it interesting. ‘Don’t get _too_ hung up on ‘em. Maybe later you can return the favor.’

‘By stealing someone else’s drink and giving it to you?’ Kaidan asked.

‘Then I’ll know you _really_ care,’ Shepard replied.

Kaidan rolled his eyes, but he didn’t look like he was having a fit. It was more like he needed to break eye contact and that was the quickest way he could think to do it.

Shepard decided he’d take that as a compliment, even if it _was_ obvious something else had done most of the legwork in getting Kaidan hot and bothered. It wasn’t trouble with the mercs either—he hadn’t looked twice at them since Shepard appeared on his radar.

Another mystery to file away in the omni-tool for later.

Rich, older, and tangled as a supply line out in the Terminus Systems. Shepard knew better than to run _toward_ a flashing red light, but he’d used up all his better judgment on toning down the dance moves.

‘Listen,’ Kaidan said. He’d given up ignoring Shepard—or at least he’d given up pretending like he wanted to. One hurdle down, too many left to count. ‘If you’re looking for someone to buy you drinks because your fake ID didn’t work at the doors, I’m not your guy.’

‘Not my guy _yet_.’ Shepard grinned, and it only got wider when Kaidan’s lips pursed up again, like he was trying not to grin back. ‘What makes you think I’m underage? Maybe I came over here to check out _your_ credentials.’

Kaidan swallowed, the white bob of his throat jerky under the static start-and-stop of the lights. He hadn’t taken a sip of his drink yet, but he _also_ hadn’t tossed it. That had to mean something.

Only a guy with Shepard’s luck could afford to be an optimist. Finch was always saying that.

But Finch was on his own now and Shepard wasn’t. At the end of the day, that counted.

‘You sure that’s all you came over here to check out?’ Kaidan asked. His voice was hoarse but he wasn’t a shouter, trying to be heard over the thump of the bass and the mercs and everything else.

That was fine, better than fine. It meant Shepard had to lean in close to hear what he was saying, and _that_ meant he could feel Kaidan’s breath on his cheek when he spoke. It was the best excuse there was, although there was still that drink to consider.

_Before_ things got fast, busy, and _somebody_ spilled it.

‘You got me.’ Shepard let his breath do the same thing, ghosting at Kaidan’s throat when he spoke. ‘Seriously. C’mon. Let’s dance.’

‘I thought we _were_ dancing,’ Kaidan muttered, but he finally went for the drink, downing it in two long gulps, the first one not measured right and the second leaving him wincing.

‘The blue stuff’s even worse,’ Shepard said, untucking his hand from his pocket and looping it into one of Kaidan’s, across that final distance. It was easy, smooth, and someone was always there to take away the unwanted glasses now that they were empty. And Shepard’s ribs only felt busted most of the time he took air into his lungs instead of all of the time, which was how they’d been yesterday.

‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Kaidan didn’t bother with being loud. They were close enough that Shepard could hear him anyway.

Then, it was nothing but the dancing, losing themselves in the mix of the crowd, humans and aliens and none of it important.

That was kind of the point.

Maybe, _maybe_ , it had something to do with getting the bouncer to look somewhere else, but there was more to it than that. Shepard had been watching this kid since he stepped in the door, and now, Kaidan was watching back.

Shepard only did the arm thing once, possibly twice, when everything was too loud not to do it. But he also put his hand on Kaidan’s hip at one point, pulling him close where there wasn’t room for anything big or fancy, and it was hot and hard like a fist to the gut. Kaidan ducked his head somewhere by Shepard’s shoulder and Shepard closed his arm around the small of his back, and the blonde merc shouted at them to _get it_ , and Shepard grinned. He did, grinding their hips together before the current song bled into the next and they lost the rhythm.

They’d find it again.

_If_ Kaidan didn’t lose his nerve first.

Shepard waited for it, Kaidan lifting his head with an expression that’d let Shepard know how the rest of his night was going to play out. Guys like him usually reacted one of two ways and it all had to do with what they’d been drinking that night, why they’d shown up in the first place.

‘You were serious about that dance, huh?’ Kaidan asked, not as breathless as Shepard felt.

The muscles between his ribs flinched and he rubbed his chest like he was thinking, like he was feeling Kaidan’s words instead of something that went deeper.

Then, a hand closed on his shoulder. Big, strong grip. It felt turian.

Luckily Shepard’s cracked bones didn’t reach that high. Nothing killed a pick-up faster than cringingon the first date.

‘If you’re looking to cut in, you gotta wait until the song’s over,’ Shepard said, glancing over his shoulder but making sure to keep it casual. Yeah; it was a turian. You could always tell from the fingers. ‘I don’t know how they do things on Palaven, but around _here_ , that’s just good manners.’

The turian laughed. The sound whistled like a guy with a punctured lung, too much air flooding in somewhere it shouldn’t. ‘Got reports of gang activity springing up around _Inferno_. Turns out the owner’s not keen on bad press.’

Kaidan stilled, like all of a sudden he was listening with both ears. Shepard didn’t mind the unwanted attention as much as the loss of Kaidan’s hips against his.

‘So?’ Shepard asked.

‘ _So,_ ’ the turian said. His grip didn’t slacken, three fingers digging tight into Shepard’s collarbone. ‘How about we go somewhere quiet and you start singing—the kind of tune that explains how red sand trafficking in this place has doubled in the last three months.’

It wasn’t a question. He didn’t bother with making it into one.

‘You think I look old enough to have those connections?’ Shepard said. ‘Come on.’

‘You’re old enough to be in this club.’ The turian’s eyes were red like a warning siren. ‘Now _aren’t_ you?’

_Shit,_ Shepard thought but didn’t say. Running circles around the turian authority meant stepping faster than he was used to. Nothing more.

‘Actually, he came in with me,’ Kaidan said, as light on his feet now as he’d been on the dance floor. He held out his hand, which meant the turian would have to let go of Shepard to shake it. ‘Kaidan Alenko.’

‘Alenko?’ the turian said. Something like recognition flickered in his eyes; the light reminded Shepard of a datapad working double-time to process an influx of information.

Kaidan’s mouth twisted—but not in the fun way. He either didn’t know he had the upper hand, or he wasn’t enjoying it the way he should’ve.

That was interesting.

Shepard stepped closer to him anyway, sliding his arm around Kaidan’s waist—not for the first time that night and, with the way things were going, maybe not the last. The angle was different, hand settling on Kaidan’s hip, thumb tucked into a pocket, with only a thin lining between his thumb and Kaidan’s skin. He flashed the turian some teeth when he smiled.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘We came in together. Don’t worry about the mix-up; it happens. I’ve got one of those faces, you know?’

‘I _do_ know,’ the turian replied.

Wherever Finch was, if he saw this going down, he was definitely vaporizing.

At least Shepard wasn’t asking the _turian_ to dance. Although that did give him an idea.

‘I’ll catch you next song,’ Shepard said. ‘Might even teach you some of my moves.’

Sometimes, the only way to get a guy off your back was to _show_ him your back, which Shepard did—without reservation. Nine times out of ten, it worked. Tenth time, you were turning your blind spot to an armed hostile. Might as well paint on a neon target and give them free shooting practice.

But _Inferno_ wasn’t as hot as it liked to think it was. Shepard could feel the turian watching him, but when no gunfire rang out, he knew he was safe. The music came rushing back over the noise of all that blood in his ears.

‘Guess I owe you another drink,’ he said.

‘That you’ll steal from somebody else’s order,’ Kaidan replied. ‘Mind telling me what the _hell_ that was about?’

‘You know how turians are. Always have to be intense about something.’ Shepard shrugged. His thumb was still in Kaidan’s pocket, rubbing against a wrinkle of something simple, something soft. Shepard was shorter, not by much, so until they got face to face it was barely even noticeable—and when they _were_ face to face, Shepard actually liked it. He tilted his chin up but Kaidan held his ground; Shepard liked that, too. ‘Alenko, huh?’

‘Yeah.’ Kaidan looked away at that, eyes narrowed but unfocused, staring into the crowd. Then, he snapped back to attention. ‘So—Palaven? Guess you like the turians more than they seem to like you.’

‘It’s no big deal,’ Shepard said.

Kaidan wasn’t buying. ‘You don’t exactly seem like the type who’s ever been off-world.’

‘And you don’t exactly seem like the type who’s ever been to _Inferno_ ,’ Shepard replied.

‘You had to go there,’ Kaidan said.

Shepard dug his fingers in, not too hard, only enough to see Kaidan’s mouth go crooked again. It did. ‘Thanks for the save, by the way. No questions asked, right?’

‘And no answers given,’ Kaidan said.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar exchange. The music stuttered into something more up-tempo and Kaidan nodded off the dance floor, showing off a side of his profile Shepard hadn’t seen before. ‘They’re still watching. You might want to get out now, unless you really _are_ looking to dance with that turian.’

‘Are _you_ looking to get out of here?’ Shepard asked. It wasn’t too dark for the twinkle in his eye to go undetected. _Are you finally getting flirty on me, Alenko?_

And all it took was a near-interrogation with a turian bouncer to coax it out of him. With some guys, you never could predict what’d get their blood pumping.

Kaidan sighed. It wasn’t a yes, but he wasn’t shooting Shepard out of the sky just yet either.

‘You _really_ don’t know when to quit, do you?’ Kaidan asked.

He started off the dance floor, heading toward one of the many exits _Inferno_ advertised just to prove they weren’t actually a fire hazard. Shepard sidled after him, not too fast—but also not too slow.

‘I mean…’ Kaidan glanced over his shoulder. Shepard saw a flicker of white scar-tissue at his temple, curved like a knife-wound, something that didn’t exactly match the rich kid package. That was all right. Shepard was starting to think he was more interested in the Kaidan Alenko package—whatever that came with. ‘Most guys would give up after the _first_ arrest attempt.’

‘I’m not most guys,’ Shepard said, swerving so their hips bumped together again. ‘Stick around, Kaidan. Maybe you’ll learn a few things.’

*


	2. ALENKO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaidan notices what Shepard's packing.

  


There weren’t many guys in the Pacific Northwest who’d killed a turian commander before they were of legal drinking age, but Kaidan was one of them. Maybe the _only_ one, considering how the Alliance had done everything to bury Jump Zero after the incident.

Hell, maybe that was the way it was supposed to be. There were even some days Kaidan wished they’d buried him right along with it.

But the end seemed so _final_. You wound up six feet under or jettisoned six thousand miles into space, and that was it. No more Kaidan Alenko, not feeling the things he didn’t want to be feeling, much less the things he did.

Anyway, dead guys didn’t wind up at _Inferno_ , and they _definitely_ didn’t get to dance with somebody who only gave one name, ‘Shepard,’ like it was both first and last—like it was all he needed to get by. 

Judging by the look of him, maybe it was.

He wore his hair buzzed military short, but given the way he twitched every time someone closed in on his peripheries, his real job was probably less regulation.

He didn’t dance like regulation, either. 

He didn’t dance like anybody.

That wasn’t always a good thing. Kaidan had no idea why he’d lied for him, only that it must’ve been part of the same instincts that’d gotten him into trouble at brain camp in the first place. 

Not learning quickly enough, having too much attitude, passing on important life lessons… That’d been part of the trouble, too. 

Cool, half-salty Vancouver air hit him when he stepped outside, away from the smell of merc sweat and all the perfume, the synthetic smoke they pumped onto the dance floor to set the mood better than the patrons ever did. Shepard was still behind him and Kaidan could feel him, mostly his posture, curious but casual. He could feel his eyes, too. He was still checking Kaidan out but eventually, that measured interest would turn into something deeper, and it might not like what it saw.

Or it didn’t mean anything. Just a stranger checking Kaidan out, thinking he looked good. 

Maybe not. Maybe it _could_ be just…some _thing_ and Kaidan needed to loosen up about it, same as always.

He turned around, mostly to prove that he could, but Shepard was right there, almost too close, a little bit shorter and not exactly grinning. It was dark in the street behind the club and it wasn’t pretty back there, either, but with the bright neon flickering from the nearest signs, Kaidan could see how blue Shepard’s eyes were. 

It felt…

It felt kind of like he was looking at somebody or somewhere else. 

He didn’t blink. Kaidan nearly did, with the beat from the club music enough to trigger a bad headache, but he managed to hold off.

That way, he wouldn’t miss anything. 

‘Sure is romantic back here, don’t you think?’ Shepard asked.

It was awful. It smelled worse than it did on the inside and there was about as much privacy, people stumbling in and out under the glaring EXIT sign. But Kaidan didn’t have a chance to say all that because Shepard had unhooked his fingers from the belt loop of his khakis to put his hand on Kaidan’s chest, pushing him up against one of the dumpsters and kissing him.

Kaidan figured he’d been expecting that—or hoping for it, or _something_. It was how Shepard kept looking to him but not _at_ him, how Shepard kept staring at his mouth instead. Now he couldn’t exactly see it, their faces too close for that, covering it up with his own. 

Kaidan finally let himself close his eyes.  

It was better than how the _Inferno_ specialty drinks tasted, at least. A lot better. And it was better than Shepard’s dancing—although Kaidan couldn’t imagine anything worse than his dancing. Their hips bumped again, the dumpster rattling, the back of Kaidan’s head hitting it a little too hard as he let it prop his body up. And Shepard did the same with his thigh, knee banging the metal, an echo inside muffled by all the garbage. 

Kaidan didn’t know where to put his hands. 

He settled on Shepard’s hips, then his back. He tugged at whatever it was Shepard was wearing, some punk thing, balling the fabric up in his fingers. 

He couldn’t remember the last person he’d kissed, just the last person he’d wanted to—and she might as well have been buried. Brain camp had ‘discouraged’ contact between students after the whole project went south.

And it wasn’t like Rahna had needed any of that official discouragement.

If he concentrated really hard, Kaidan could still see her face—the fear in her eyes and the sling knotted around her neck. She’d been more afraid of _Kaidan_ than the guy who’d put her in that cast to begin with.

Just his luck. Guys like Kaidan were always too nice, right up until they weren’t. 

A snapped neck beat a snapped arm every time and _Murdering Guy_ was even less appealing than _Nice Guy_. Commander Vyrnnus had been more important than a roomful of human biotics and that roomful of biotics all knew it. Kaidan sure as hell knew it, but that hadn’t stopped him when the time came.

His head throbbed, straight through the temple, and he made a low noise in the back of his throat that came out like a growl. Shepard’s hands on him clenched tighter, like he thought it was because of him.

Kaidan was willing to let him believe it. It wasn’t as though he had any alternatives.

Shepard’s mouth was like the rest of him, hard and a touch too persistent. _Definitely_ not regulation. Kaidan didn’t need to remember his last kiss to know it hadn’t been anything like this, because it’d been something furtive and sweet under the fireworks over English Bay, tasting like stolen lager and synthetic red lip color.

Stubble grazed his lower lip as Shepard used the dumpster for leverage and Kaidan felt something like relief settle at the center of his chest, under the bulletproof weave. The guy was definitely lying about his age, but at least he was old enough to shave, which Kaidan hadn’t expected.

He didn’t know what he _had_ expected. Just…not this, making out behind his least favorite club in Vancouver, with a stranger who seemed to have a turian problem of his own. It was a classic move, because while the details didn’t matter, the circumstances were by the book. 

Kaidan didn’t want to think about the look on his mom’s face if she ever learned about where he was. It wasn’t acting out. It was doing something, _anything_ more than the usual—but knowing why he was doing it was one thing, and figuring out how _not_ to do it wasn’t a skill set he’d been taught back in brain camp. 

Biotic charges, sure. How to ignore the headaches. How to be a living weapon, a perfect example. 

Not this.

Shepard tugged his lower lip, grinding their hips together like they were still dancing. The back door to _Inferno_ swung open mid-kiss and a couple of the mercs from before spilled out into the night, laughing, not paying attention because to them, whatever happened here didn’t matter. Shepard tensed but only for a second, and Kaidan wondered why.

He didn’t seem to let anything stop him. Not a close-call with a turian bouncer; not a guy who didn’t know how to flirt back even if he wanted to. Nothing.

Again—that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

Kaidan looked away, cheek against the busted-up metal, for long enough to catch his breath. He still had a handful of shirt like he needed something to hold on to, which he didn’t, so he let it go, patting Shepard’s side instead.

Shepard tensed again.

‘What?’ Kaidan asked.

‘Nothing,’ Shepard replied.

‘You keep…I don’t know. _Flinching_ or something.’ Kaidan caught sight of Shepard’s eyes when he turned back to face him, too-bright blue even without reflecting the neon from up high. They weren’t sincere. Kaidan didn’t know _what_ they were. 

‘It’s not a comment on the kissing,’ Shepard said. ‘Actually, you’re a lot better at _that_ than I thought you would be.’

‘Seriously?’ Kaidan asked. 

Shepard shrugged one shoulder—and there it was for the third time, his body seizing up. Kaidan had seen it all the time in brain camp, kids who were injured but didn’t want anyone to know about it. He’d done it enough times himself, but he recognized it because of the times he’d seen some other student thinking they could get away with hiding something that obvious. But Shepard kept going. ‘Thought I’d have to teach you how. Some rich earthborn, hanging out in _Inferno_ , not dancing with anybody in particular… I thought lessons might be fun.’

Kaidan adjusted his grip, tightening it again, running his thumb over Shepard’s side. When he got to the bottom rib Shepard’s breath left his mouth in a quick hiss he couldn’t clamp down on and Kaidan regretted not the exploration but the help he’d offered so quickly back inside the club. 

Then, he regretted regretting it. 

‘Okay, I take it back,’ Shepard said. ‘Maybe you _do_ need some lessons on how to do the whole make-out thing after all. My lips are up here, Kaidan. Think you might be lost.’

‘Your rib’s broken,’ Kaidan told him. 

He’d dealt with enough of those to know what one felt like—to know what more than one felt like. 

‘No kidding.’ Shepard touched Kaidan’s elbow, hand running up to his wrist, guiding his touch somewhere else. Kaidan resisted, pushing back before he followed, down over Shepard’s hip and onto his thigh. ‘It’s nothing I haven’t— I’m touched, really. But it’s not important.’

‘You sound real tough,’ Kaidan said.

‘Real _honest_ ,’ Shepard replied. ‘Unless you’re earth’s youngest doctor, I don’t see why it matters.’

It didn’t, Kaidan supposed. ‘It doesn’t,’ he said. Shepard rubbed the back of his wrist and it would’ve been easy, so damn easy, to touch him back, to squeeze his thigh. 

But he could still feel that rib, the muscle drawn awkward over the bone and sticking out under a shirt that wasn’t even made of bulletproof fiber. And after the trouble he’d had with that turian, Shepard obviously needed all the bulletproof fiber he could get. 

Shepard exhaled but it wasn’t a sexy gasp; it wasn’t Kaidan making him breathless. It was huffier, frustrated, like he’d finally figured out Kaidan Alenko didn’t live up to the promise of flashing lights and pounding bass and whatever it was Shepard had seen in him. Shepard finally got it, that Kaidan wasn’t worth buying a drink for—but then, Shepard hadn’t paid for anything.

‘It’s not like it’s _your_ rib,’ Shepard said. He was smart, but everyone always said Kaidan had a face like a NewsNet broadcast. He wasn’t about to give Shepard too much credit for reading it.

‘Yeah, ‘cause if it was, I’d be getting it looked at by a medical professional.’ Kaidan didn’t flinch at the sound of the words leaving his mouth, each stiffer than the last until he could practically _feel_ his lips pursing. It was Rahna all over again, chasing off anyone crazy enough to get close to him.

Luckily, Shepard didn’t back down easy. Kaidan was still better than a club full of enforcers, so maybe he hadn’t hit rock bottom just yet.

‘Huh,’ Shepard said. He’d been standing on the balls of his feet—something Kaidan only noticed when he lowered himself down again. His fingers drummed along the edges of Kaidan’s belt, but he was distracted now, the tip of his thumb skirting the cold metal buckle. ‘You’re a smart guy, Kaidan. Why didn’t _I_ think of that? I’ll just take my extra credits—throw in a bonus since it’s after work hours, of course—and head on down to Fox Memorial.’

Kaidan saw the blow coming too late to dodge. It stung less than taking the full force of a kinetic barrier to the chest, but the after-effects of feeling like a jackass could outlast any bruises.

‘I’m sorry,’ Kaidan started. Shepard’s thigh was tense under his hand.

‘You know, when most people don’t want to make out in garbage they usually come up with a better excuse,’ Shepard added.

Kaidan wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t tell whether or not Shepard was kidding.

‘ _Seriously_?’ It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, long and drawn out and hating the sound of his own voice.

‘Do I look like the serious type?’ Shepard asked. 

Kaidan didn’t know how to answer that and the one thing he’d learned from his time in Brain Camp was not to volunteer information you didn’t have. He bit his lower lip and Shepard—still, for whatever reason—watched him do it, like he—still, for whatever reason—thought it was hot. 

There were a couple of options; they still had them, which wasn’t always the case. Kaidan had been trained to recognize them, then analyze which was the most and least viable, what made more sense than everything else, which wasn’t always the most strategic option. 

Nothing about this made sense and it _definitely_ wasn’t strategic. So it was down to viable or not, a bottom line Kaidan was finally relieved he understood. 

‘No Fox Memorial, then,’ he said. ‘You could… You should come back to my place.’

Shepard looked like he was about to grin—or like he was about to laugh. ‘ _Seriously_?’ he asked, on purpose, still not letting go of Kaidan’s wrist. Kaidan could feel a callus on his thumb, pressed right into his pulse. ‘Do I look like _that_ type?’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ Kaidan swallowed, the bass still throbbing somewhere in his chest. Or maybe that was just his heartrate going ten times too fast, because Shepard’s leg was between both of his thighs and he was about to do something crazier, stupider than he’d been in a while. A long while. ‘My dad—he’s Alliance. We always have medical supplies around and we don’t charge hospital rates, either.’ He paused. Going out on a limb was important for getting results. ‘…Just the cost of a drink. Doesn’t matter if you’re the one who paid for it or not.’

‘Alliance, huh?’ Shepard didn’t give him the satisfaction of enjoying the joke, at least not where Kaidan could see it. Then again, if Kaidan had been running on more than one busted rib, getting cornered by turians in some Omega-wannabe club, he didn’t think he’d be feeling up to jokes, either. ‘I don’t know about that, Kaidan. Wouldn’t want you to get caught dodging your curfew _and_ bringing questionable strangers home. Alliance regulations—well, you probably know how _those_ go better than I do. You might just get slapped with a demotion. …Hey, fill me in: how does house arrest work when your dad’s your superior officer, anyway?’

‘He’s not around,’ Kaidan said. ‘He’s off-world, okay? And we’ve got the supplies, and _you_ need them, so—you can be stubborn about it and hang around waiting for the next rich kid _idiot_ who’ll talk you out of a hot situation with a turian breathing down your neck, _or_ you can come back with me and let me give you what you need.’

Shepard snorted or maybe he laughed; Kaidan couldn’t tell which it was. Then, he leaned closer, way too close this time, their noses just touching, sharing every breath they weren’t taking. Shepard wasn’t taller but for a second it seemed like he could be, like he was bigger somehow. Or like every breath he took _didn’t_ mess with ribs that couldn’t afford to stretch anymore, that were _already_ past the point of snapping. 

‘That was some speech,’ Shepard said finally, mouth almost brushing Kaidan’s. 

‘You know I’m right,’ Kaidan said.

‘Do I?’ Shepard licked his lips and Kaidan could feel _that_ , too, tongue so close to flesh. ‘…Give me ‘what I need,’ huh?’ 

‘Do I look like that type?’ Kaidan was the one to pull away, hips dragging along Shepard’s thigh, while Shepard let go of his wrist. 

‘Only from behind,’ Shepard said.

Even with the broken ribs, he managed to keep up.

*


	3. SHEPARD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaidan takes off Shepard's boots and Shepard invades the master bathroom.

The place was cleaner than a hospital—more welcoming, too. It was the kind of place Shepard hadn’t ever seen from the inside, flowers on a table by the front door, a view of the water and everything.

Some of the Reds talked about the apartments they’d buy, right after they’d bought their way out of the business. But even their imaginations couldn’t come up with something this nice. Spotless windows stretched bigger than the length of Shepard’s entire dive down in East Hastings, and those were framed with clean white walls that made Shepard feel dirty just by looking at them. The carpet was white too, and he only noticed Kaidan taking his boots off after _he’d_ already stepped forward.

 _Sorry,_ Shepard thought, but he didn’t come out with it. There was being polite—and then there was rolling over and showing your belly to a guy you’d only just met. Kaidan might’ve been nice, but he had status _and_ more than a couple years on Shepard.

There was no reason to make things easier for him than they already were.

‘So.’ Shepard’s nose wrinkled when he drew breath, that pesky sharp pain like a shiv in his side. Next time, he told himself, Finch was gonna help _him_ over the fence first.

Let someone else deal with Jimmy ‘the Krogan’ Johnson for a change. Why did it _always_ have to be Shepard who met those losers head-on?

‘Lean back,’ Kaidan said. ‘Against the wall. I’ll help you with your boots.’

That hadn’t been the first thing on Shepard’s mind. Not even close. He’d been too busy admiring the view, the real view, for once—checking out paintings, checking out upholstery, looking at the high ceilings like he was expecting to see the stars up there. But he had to admit his own brand of dancing had taken its toll on his ribcage. He was having more trouble now than he’d had back at _Inferno,_ and the idea of bending double to take his shoes off so he didn’t mess up the carpet didn’t seem like a one man job anymore.

‘You treat all your dates this well, Kaidan?’ Shepard asked.

‘Only the ones who look like they’re about to pass out.’ Kaidan turned his face down and away, like he knew Shepard couldn’t bend to get a look at him, but he sounded friendly enough. Not warm, though.

You never could tell with the rich ones, even less if they were Alliance born and bred. Shepard could see a picture on the nearby wall, a tall Marine with Kaidan’s eyes and a stronger mouth, dressed in faded military blues. It was the haircut that was different. Kaidan had too much hair to be a marine just like daddy.

It was some kind of punchline, but Shepard didn’t feel like grinning.

Kaidan fit his hand around Shepard’s heel, the other flicking the buckle at his calf until it fell open, and gave a sharp tug. Shepard lifted his foot and Kaidan slid the boot off with only a couple more well-timed efforts, which Shepard felt each time, all the way up his leg and into his chest. The wall was bracing but he didn’t want to touch it and leave his prints all over the place.

At least he didn’t have to see Kaidan’s face when _Kaidan_ saw the holes in his socks.

That was enough to make Shepard grin, even though he never did for Finch’s turian jokes . Somebody had to pretend to think they were funny for long enough to get the job done but Shepard found not listening meant the job got done even better.

‘Next foot,’ Kaidan said.

Shepard’s toes set down in the fluffy carpet, some synthetic fiber that probably felt like clouds on bare skin. He found his balance without wriggling too much and let his weight shift, listening to the sound of the buckles coming undone, the pressure of Kaidan’s fingers at the back of his leg, staring at the wall with pictures on it that were practically staring back.

‘You weren’t kidding about your family.’ Shepard licked his lips, checking out the medals next. There weren’t too many, nothing for showing off, just stuff that’d happened once and somebody involved was proud enough to keep them polished like new.

‘I don’t have any reason to lie about it,’ Kaidan replied. He set Shepard’s second boot next to the first, in a corner of the room and off the carpet. ‘It’d be…pretty obvious what the score was, if I tried.’

‘You’re smart,’ Shepard said. ‘You know, for somebody who lives in a place like this.’

‘C’mon.’ Kaidan looked up—and Shepard felt a burst of heat like a warning flare in his stomach, wanting Kaidan to stay down there on his knees a little while longer, or mess up how neat he kept his hair. It was a dangerous thought, more dangerous than the plans Shepard came up with for breaking and entering without getting caught, because the whole point of that was the silence, the invisibility. At least until you were long gone and nobody could pin you for it.

Then, Kaidan straightened, brushing his hands off on his thighs.

‘Nice boots, by the way,’ he added.

‘And you know what they say about guys with nice boots,’ Shepard said.

Kaidan’s voice was dry, his lips ready to purse like they had back at the club, like he was trying not to smile. ‘Not really. I don’t _think_ that’s the line you were going for.’

Nobody mentioned the socks.

The floor was polished to a slick shine and didn’t creak, especially now that they were both barefoot. Shepard’s pulse was racing when they started up the spiral staircase, like this was another one of his jobs—and he could probably have turned it into something, if he wanted to play it that way. The name Alenko held some weight in _Inferno_ , after all, but Shepard wasn’t Finch—and some days, knowing that was the only way Shepard knew who he _was_. Some nights, knowing that was all he had.

Along with ‘nice boots’ and a pair of old socks.

Kaidan might’ve been rich and way out of his depth, but he’d saved Shepard’s ass from getting hauled off to detention. Repaying the favor by scalping the Alenko family medals seemed like spitting in the guy’s face—and it was a nice face. Too good for that garbage.

‘Gonna show me the upstairs?’ Shepard’s voice echoed, chasing itself through the big, empty rooms. Then it bounced off the walls and came back to him—so even the apartment knew he didn’t belong, doing its best to kick him out before he made himself too comfortable.

Kaidan chuckled, trying to work something out of his throat. ‘If I agree to give you points for perseverance, will you knock it off?’

‘Do you want me to?’ Shepard asked. He didn’t laugh, if only because he didn’t want to jerk his ribs around anymore that night than he already had.

Kaidan fell silent at the top of the stairs, fingers groping for a light switch Shepard had already spotted in the dark. He closed the distance between them, chest grazing Kaidan’s stiff back as he reached out to flip the power grid on. Light flooded the landing, enough for Shepard to see a red mark on Kaidan’s neck, just behind his jaw, where he’d cut himself shaving. He could smell the soap on there, too, something clean over the club-smell and, of course, the dumpster out back.

‘…I’ll get back to you on that,’ Kaidan said. ‘Thanks.’

Shepard felt the breath he took, shoulders rising and falling, before he moved away again. Moving on.

There were more pictures on the wall opposite the stairs, short-frame vids on loop. A family huddled together in the dark to watch the same three fireworks explode over and over against the night sky, red and blue close together, then green in the far corner. Kaidan and a woman who had to be his mother leaning back against the rails of a sailing skiff, the same wind rifling their hair. Seeing them together made Shepard feel like he’d eaten two-week old protein, sweat prickling at the back of his neck and his stomach acting up.

‘Med supplies are in the master bathroom,’ Kaidan said. ‘…And I can’t believe I just said _master bathroom_ in front of you.’

‘Don’t sweat it.’ Shepard slung an arm around his shoulders like it was easy, ignoring the answering _you’re an asshole_ from his broken bones. ‘It’s your first time playing doctor. I get it.’

‘I’ll get the med kit,’ Kaidan said, lifting Shepard’s arm and putting it back by his side. ‘You just…work on keeping still. _If_ that’s something you can even do.’

‘Reverse psychology, right?’ Shepard followed him into the bathroom. The tiles were cold on the soles of his feet, through the holes in his socks, with nothing but bare skin to meet the chill. ‘Or do you just think I can’t resist the challenge?’

‘No,’ Kaidan said. He was the one to throw the light this time, right before Shepard almost crashed into the sink, and he caught sight of himself in the mirror above it—freckles across his nose from the Vancouver sun, patch on his jacket, framed by white and black squares all over the walls. The _master bathroom_. Somewhere else he had no right being. ‘I _know_ you can’t resist the challenge. So just…sit down or something.’

Shepard hovered between the walk-in shower and a tub closer to the size of his place in East Hastings than he wanted to think about.

It was only temporary.

Shepard chose the tub, sitting down on the edge and over a couple of temperature-control jets. It wasn’t comfortable but it shouldn’t be. Shepard didn’t want it to be.

He watched Kaidan bend to the storage under the sink, fishing the med kit out—supplies that’d be more at home in a boot camp off-world than they were in a master bathroom in Vancouver. It was enough to keep Shepard from staring at Kaidan’s ass when he went down. Not for the whole time, anyway. When Kaidan turned back around, he looked surprised that Shepard was still there—or surprised by something else, but Shepard couldn’t figure out what.

‘You…still have your shirt on.’ Kaidan put the med kit down next to Shepard’s thigh, popping the lock, the top opening up with a hiss. ‘You move so fast, I thought…’

‘Maybe I need help with that, too,’ Shepard said.

It was enough to make Kaidan flush, right on the back of his neck where the cut was.

‘Something tells me you can handle it yourself,’ Kaidan replied, setting out medigel packs and quick-dry antiseptic and a whole bunch of other stuff that would’ve brought a small fortune on the black market—if you were stupid enough, desperate enough, to sell them instead of keeping the stash for yourself. Shepard wasn’t sure what he’d do if it was his. Sell most of it, probably, and save a couple of things in there for a rainy day.

‘But I’m injured,’ Shepard said. ‘And it’s pretty serious, too, according to my attending. Dr. Alenko—do you think I’ll last the night?’

‘That all depends on you, not me.’ Kaidan leaned against the rim of the tub, the med kit between them, medigel tube in one hand. ‘Most injuries are all about attitude. Only five percent’s physical, and the rest…’ He paused, realizing he was spouting something somebody else had told him, and refocused his attention on Shepard’s face. ‘You keep putting this off, I might start thinking it’s more serious under there than I thought.’

‘Oh, it’s serious.’ Shepard’s hands hovered at the hem of his shirt, something he’d nicked that made him look legit—so long as there were shadows to cover up all the stuff that didn’t match. ‘In fact, you probably won’t be able to keep your hands off me.’

‘Well, that’s right,’ Kaidan said. ‘Because I’ll be applying medigel and bandages, and that’s usually pretty hands-on.’

‘You get that fancy sense of humor from a special school?’ Shepard asked. He screwed up his resolve and tugged at his shirt, pulling it off with a flinch that went hidden behind the blended weave. ‘Or does it just come naturally?’

‘A little of both, I think.’ There was something tight to the set of Kaidan’s mouth, like he was afraid he’d give too much away by talking. Like he didn’t get it was all about what he’d given away already in his expression. ‘Am I going to have to tell you to sit still again?’

He bit his lip, but not before Shepard saw his eyes flick down, taking in the damage. Hopefully that wasn’t _all_ he was taking in. Scrawny, underfed orphans weren’t exactly a rare commodity in Vancouver—or anywhere else, for that matter—but Shepard was willing to bet he was the first who’d talked his way into the Alenko master bathroom.

He was a real pioneer—setting an example for dozens of smart-mouthed earthborns everywhere.

What a legacy.

‘Just once is all I need,’ Shepard said. He caught a glimpse of his shirt huddled on the clean tiles and kicked it into a corner. ‘I’m a professional, doc. You don’t have to repeat your orders.’

‘Uh huh,’ Kaidan said. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll get an answer if I ask what, exactly, you’re a professional in?’

‘That’s a safe assumption, Kaidan,’ Shepard replied.

Kaidan cleared his throat, exasperated under the warm glow of the bathroom lights. Not every family could afford something besides the strip neon that threaded all of East Vancouver and into Gastown, but once you had a big expensive house, Shepard guessed you needed all the expensive stuff that went inside it too. It wasn’t too dim, and it didn’t flicker like the cheap shit, either.

There were worse places to get his ribs looked at. Even if it was gonna come with a price down the road.

‘Back in the day, I’d be wrapping you in compression bandages and kicking you out on your ass.’ Kaidan squeezed something from a little silver tube onto his fingers, then leaned forward, spreading it over Shepard’s side. His touch was light, more relaxed than his voice or his mouth. ‘You probably already know this, but splinting a broken rib’s probably the worst thing for it. Take a deep breath for me?’

‘For you?’ Shepard asked. The gel was cool, but he could already feel it numbing his skin. ‘Anything.’

Kaidan huffed, a _huh_ that didn’t go anywhere.

Shepard knew the mistake he was making. Pain wasn’t so bad—as long as you didn’t have anything to compare it to. Letting something heal on its own, naturally, and all the hurt that came with healing—it didn’t spoil you for the next time it happened, and the time after that. Feeling good was the problem, not feeling like shit. And the second it turned, the second you let _good_ in, it could undo months, _years_ of hard work and heavy training, the idea that pain or hunger or being too cold or being too hot—that was all there was.

For guys like Shepard and the rest of the Reds, all choices—like which job to pick up, which mercs to run for, which to run _from_ —weren’t anything more than an illusion. They all pointed to the same place in the end.

Except for this one.

This place was different.

The medicine burned because it was cold, sinking in through Shepard’s skin to the muscle beneath. It was sticky and clear, turning Kaidan’s fingers blue at the tips while he spread it over the bruises. Shepard watched those fade like weeks were passing, not seconds, turning into something green and gray and a hell of a lot less lumpy.

And it felt good.

It wasn’t the same ‘good’ Shepard got from dancing with him, kissing him, hips bearing down on Kaidan’s hips. That good was about buildup, not release, which was all this was. _Relief_.

It’d only been a couple of days since the ribs got themselves busted in the first place, and it wasn’t so bad Shepard needed all this special treatment. But Kaidan’s hands were steadier than his voice, steadier than his body on the dance floor or the tremble that’d run through his muscles when he was squeezing Shepard’s thigh between both his legs.

Shepard realized he was holding a breath for too long, lungs hurting instead of his ribs. He let it out, fingers pressed so hard into the side of the tub that his knuckles were close to turning white.

‘Okay,’ Kaidan said, more for himself than for Shepard. Shepard could tell. ‘Okay. …That _should_ do it.’

Shepard shifted his weight onto one arm so he could touch the area and see for himself. His own skin made his fingertips sting, it was that cold. Kaidan got a clean-up pack out and tore it open at the tab, watching, almost waiting for Shepard to wince, but there wasn’t even a shadow left where the bruises had been.  Shepard had to trace their shapes by memory and he didn’t bother trying.

He pressed his thumb between two of his ribs instead, harder once he realized he could, then stretched his back out side to side. No pain. Just more of that relief. Eventually he’d start taking it for granted until next time, and he wouldn’t have Kaidan Alenko to kiss it and make it better again.

Shepard pinched some of the skin between his thumb and forefinger, then glanced back at Kaidan. He was still watching.

‘Admiring your handiwork, or looking at something else?’ Shepard asked.

‘You’re welcome,’ Kaidan said, reaching for a towel. ‘Glad to see it worked.’

Shepard took the chance, an instinct that came out of nowhere, moving quick enough that he caught the moment while it still _was_ a moment. His body was there already; all he had to do was move closer and pull Kaidan in against his chest.

‘Thanks,’ he said, and kissed him.

This time, he didn’t have the garbage working against him. It should’ve been a confidence booster, but that just meant there was no auxiliary, no one and nothing but himself to blame if things went south.

It was the _if_ that made him an optimist.

Shepard liked to think he had a few moves in his back pocket, even if Kaidan was proving tougher to crack than a Hahne-Kedar chestplate. He’d done a fine job of keeping Shepard on his toes all night—not to _mention_ he’d managed to keep Shepard from stepping on his.

It was a rare guy that managed to dodge the onslaught of Shepard’s dance moves. Even rarer was someone with a closet full of Alliance-grade med supplies. That tube of gel alone was worth more than all of Shepard’s organs put together on the black market—which he knew, because he’d calculated the value in credits one winter.

There was a surplus on human vitals these days. Saturated market. The real money was in spare krogan parts.

He flinched at the thought, then let Kaidan give him something to flinch about, pushing Shepard back against the black-and-white tiles of the Alenko master bathroom. Shepard waited but there was no burst of pain, no sudden ache to overshadow the confirmation of a hunch Shepard had been working since _Inferno_ : Kaidan was a really good kisser.

Wondering where he’d learned it was just the beginning of a whole twisting network of tunnels, dangerous as thresher maw territory. One question jumped or even fell straight into another: had he learned it here, and did that make him earthborn? There were enough pictures of the whole Alenko family in Vancouver that Shepard could guess he hadn’t been raised spacer, but there was something about the way Kaidan walked and talked—a hesitation in his speech and tension in his back—that said he’d been spending time off-world.

Maybe boarding school was closer to the target than Shepard knew.

Or maybe it was none of his damn business.

He was at a disadvantage, shirt off already, tile cold on his skin and Kaidan warm on top of his chest. He was coming at Shepard fast and hard like he really wanted it, and that left Shepard breathless, too. When Kaidan went for his throat, Shepard forgot—only for a few seconds, but that was enough—all the instincts that said _don’t give it to him; don’t show anybody that soft spot_. So Kaidan sucked at the pulse and Shepard held onto his hair and their hips met again, finally, after waiting way too long.

Then, Shepard’s elbow knocked over the med kit.

It didn’t pop open, the air-seal holding tight without somebody punching in the code, but the bang was _loud_ , echoing off the tiles. Shepard realized how hard he was and also how hard he was breathing, a one-two punch that didn’t leave him much room to maneuver. He stared up at Kaidan’s face, swollen lips and blown pupils and all, watching clarity switch on behind his eyes.

That was fast. He had training, but again—none of Shepard’s damn business.

Shepard licked his bottom lip.

‘We should, uh…’ Kaidan’s voice snared like Shepard’s old jacket on barbed wire. Not that it happened all that often—usually he jumped high enough to clear it, easy. ‘Not—in here. We should move, that’s…what I’m saying.’

‘You sure about that?’ Shepard asked.

His voice didn’t sound so steady either.

‘Yeah,’ Kaidan said.

He got up to put the med kit back where it belonged, tugging his shirt back into place. Shepard hadn’t even gotten his hands up underneath the hem— _yet_ , he told himself, making a grab for his shirt, not planning on putting it back on again until later. Much later. He got his feet on the ground and caught his balance and that was when he heard Kaidan flip the switch for the light in the bathroom, only the moonlight to guide them out.

*


	4. ALENKO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard plays with Kaidan's model ships.

It’d be a lie if Kaidan told himself he had no idea what he was doing.

He knew _exactly_ what he was doing, inviting some mysterious street kid into his house for more than just the med supplies he obviously needed—med supplies he _obviously_ wouldn’t get on his own.

Not unless he stole them.

He looked like the type.

And he acted like the type, and he kissed like the type—even if it was only Kaidan’s first experience with it, there were some things you just knew, and this was one of them.

So he did know exactly what he was doing. The problem he had right now was all about figuring out _why_ he was doing it.

There weren’t any easy answers, not for the tough questions. Forcing himself to ask them was something he’d been trained to do, but no amount of training made the answers more obvious.

Kaidan wondered if he was freaking out.

It could’ve been the adrenaline talking, whatever was taking over for what he should’ve been thinking. Something physical, something about the kissing; something about the way Shepard looked in Kaidan’s bedroom next to the open shades on the glass door to the balcony. Something about…all of it, which meant it was as obvious as everything else had been. As obvious as Kaidan was being right now.

Yeah.

He was freaking out.

Keeping his calm in a hot situation—that was part of his training, to recognize when his mind was moving too fast for his body and make his body catch up. Making his mind slow down, though—that wasn’t how it was supposed to work.

It was always about being more, never about being less.

‘Nice room,’ Shepard said, picking up a model ship. ‘Alliance Cruiser, right? And a UT-47 Kodiak Drop Shuttle. _Nice_.’

‘Uh,’ Kaidan said, before he could catch himself. ‘…Yeah. I guess? My father used to bring them back when he got shore leave.’

There hadn’t been any new model ships since Kaidan had turned twelve, but it was hard to get the words out when he was busy studying Shepard’s new expression. Like a kid on Christmas morning didn’t seem accurate for a kid who’d probably never had a Christmas morning in his life. They hadn’t known each other for more than one night—one weird, long night, barely a few hours of it—and it was tough to picture Shepard any younger than he was right now. He had too many hard angles, too many shadows on his face, made sharper because of his bone structure.

No way someone like _that_ ever had his fat baby cheeks pinched by any well-meaning aunts over the holidays.

There was no fat to pinch—and no aunts to do the pinching.

Even though it wasn’t his place, the idea was starting to make Kaidan a little…sad.

So maybe that was why he’d taken a minute to catch his breath. He even stood back, pretending not to watch as Shepard flew the Alliance Cruiser around the room, flight-path complete with a _whoosh_ when it hit the model mass relay. Another present Kaidan hadn’t touched in years.

But his motives weren’t entirely altruistic. Seeing Shepard like this felt like getting a glimpse into something private, and Kaidan could appreciate the symmetry of the moment—he’d let Shepard see where he lived, without any hope that Shepard might let him do the same in return.

Shepard was full of surprises. And when he wasn’t trying to hide a few broken ribs, it was easier to figure out what those surprises _were_.

Feeling brave, Kaidan moved in close behind him, letting his fingers trail over the sharp edges of the Citadel replica. That one was his mom’s favorite. She’d never been off-world and, she said, she wasn’t about to start now.

‘If I’d known I was gonna get upstaged by my own models,’ Kaidan said, ‘I would’ve taken you to the living room.’

‘So we could make out on the couch?’ Shepard turned. Their chests bumped. Kaidan didn’t want to fool himself, that he could hear or feel Shepard’s heart beating, but Shepard _was_ half-naked and it _was_ possible. Kaidan tried not to listen for it. ‘That’s even classier than the bathroom, Kaidan.’

Kaidan liked the way Shepard said his name—almost as much as he didn’t like it. It was a complicated feeling, friendly and familiar but also a challenge, and it always came with too much attitude. Undeserved, too; they didn’t really know each other at all. It’d only been a few hours. Kaidan hadn’t done anything to him. In fact, he’d done the right thing, the good and responsible one, not because he expected some gratitude from a stranger, but when it didn’t make a difference, that didn’t make it fair.

Most things weren’t.

Shepard wasn’t wearing a shirt and he wasn’t wearing his bruises anymore. Without the injury to wear him, he moved more comfortably and with none of the training Kaidan was used to working with. But he didn’t move like a civilian, either, which was all part of the bad-boy thing he had going for him. He was still wearing _that_ , and unlike the med supplies, there was no instruction manual with a step-by-step for how to work with it.

Difficult as it was, Kaidan let go of a breath that was only making him tense. Shepard put the Alliance Cruiser down, gently, and his shirt next to it, less gently, then reached out and tugged at the fabric pushed under Kaidan’s belt.

Kaidan’s stomach reacted accordingly. His heart-rate did the same. Even with his shirt still on, Kaidan knew Shepard could hear it.

Maybe his face only showed Kaidan what he wanted it to—so he must have wanted Kaidan to know it was painfully obvious.

Shepard lifted the fabric. That stuff was bulletproof, really expensive, enough to stand between Kaidan and a club where things happened, _bad_ things, pretty regularly. That was why he’d worn it. It was hot, though, and when he was dancing he’d worked up a sweat. He probably wouldn’t make that mistake a second time.

Shepard took it off.

Kaidan had to lift his arms but when they came down again, Shepard was standing inside the circle they made. He took a step forward, thigh bumping one of Kaidan’s thighs, and asked, ‘So how’s the bed?’

It was the stupidest, simplest thing Kaidan had ever heard. He wanted to laugh but it came out scrambled up in a sigh or something else, something less casual.

 _I don’t even know what I’m doing_ , he thought, but that was wrong—still wrong. _I don’t even know why I’m doing this_.

Shepard’s eyes were _so_ blue. Then they were kissing again and honestly, it didn’t matter.

The backs of Kaidan’s thighs hit the mattress a few seconds later; without stopping to think about it, he was switching things up, pushing his advantage and pushing Shepard down onto his bed. Shepard looked surprised—then pretty okay with it—before Kaidan was on him again, just like they’d been in the bathroom, only without all the cold tile or the chance they might fall into his parents’ bathtub.

Kaidan’s bed smelled like it always did. It smelled like him. He buried his face against Shepard’s throat and Shepard gripped his hips and they were grinding, without music, like they didn’t even need it.

Shepard didn’t try to roll him over or fight for the high ground, which was stupid, totally unlikely, definitely not strategic. What kind of tactics was he working with, anyway? A guy like him always had something to prove—everyone _always_ had something to prove—but he didn’t take the openings Kaidan gave him, knees on either side of his chest, balance thrown for so many reasons.

‘So,’ Shepard said, and the breathless catch in his voice made Kaidan feel proud, then ridiculous.

‘So you like model ships,’ Kaidan finished for him. He bit the pulse at Shepard’s jugular, the same place he’d been kissing before. ‘You wanna tell me how you learned to pick out an Alliance cruiser? Or is it the same place you learned about Palaven?’

For some reason, that did it. Whatever Shepard had been about to say, whatever smart remark he’d been building up toward, Kaidan had managed to cut it off at the knees. He felt it when the air left Shepard’s lungs, when the tension in his body shifted. It wasn’t relaxed, but it didn’t feel guarded, either. They were still tangled together, one of Shepard’s legs hooked around the back of Kaidan’s for leverage, and it occurred to him then that maybe Shepard’s choice _had_ been a strategic one after all.

Just not the kind of strategy Kaidan was used to, _or_ used to needing.

On his back, it was easier to hide certain reactions—a tremble here or a sudden jerk there. Kaidan’s arms kept him steady above Shepard but it was painfully obvious every time their hips met in the right way, at the right angle. He didn’t know Shepard well enough to guess whether or not he’d maneuvered them here on purpose. Hell, Kaidan had assumed he was the one doing the maneuvering. His home-ground, his advantage—or so he’d thought. But he _did_ know Shepard well enough to be suspicious, which was probably closer than he should have been willing to get.

Shepard’s teeth tugged at his lower lip, a sharp little bite pulling Kaidan out of his thoughts and back into the moment. It’d been a while—way _too_ long, when he really thought about it, years of Rahna in his mind and not in his arms. Maybe he’d just been looking in the wrong places. There were advantages _and_ disadvantages to being Kaidan’s kind of flexible. Twice the options usually meant twice the opportunity to crash and burn out.

Cool hands lifted to trace the line of Kaidan’s ribcage. He shivered at the drag of callused skin against his own, well aware that he wasn’t exactly at fighting weight. If Shepard wondered how a guy with Kaidan’s background wound up underfed, he didn’t ask. And Kaidan supposed he was grateful for it—in his own way. The last thing he felt like explaining now was what brain camp rations did to a biotic appetite, or the disappearing act that appetite had pulled on him since he’d got home.

When he wasn’t burning up calories, he didn’t get that hunger. He ate, but it wasn’t the same—and his body knew it.

Shepard’s thumb traced the curved line drawn by one of his ribs, no bruises and no scars there. There were some below the skin, deeper than muscle, but it wasn’t something Shepard had to know about and it wasn’t something he could feel. Kaidan shivered. It felt good, gentle even though his hands weren’t made for that kind of thing, and when he dragged his thumbnail over Kaidan’s chest Kaidan realized his nipples were already hard. Just like the rest of him, apparently. Shepard teased one of them with his finger, rolling it around like a test, and Kaidan bowed his head, not panting because he _did_ have the training to avoid it.

But it wasn’t easy.

Nothing about this was _easy_.

And Kaidan had nothing to brace himself on but Shepard’s shoulders, breath coming hot and fast against his collarbone. The muscle in Shepard’s thigh was tight, good for pushing against. Neither of them went for the belt or what was below that, even though Kaidan’s fingers twitched with wanting to.

What held him back was not knowing what came next.

He wasn’t shy. That wasn’t the issue. But he’d done enough bad things on instinct alone to make him shy away from it, and Shepard didn’t push the issue, didn’t point it out or even ask.

And there was plenty of other stuff to explore, other places to touch. Shepard’s body was tan, tight, dusted with these freckles that could barely be seen in the shadows but they _were_ there. Kaidan even kissed some of them, waiting for Shepard to buck or buckle or do _something_ that wasn’t smug and braced by the bed. Now and then Kaidan could feel it, his dick through two layers of khaki, Shepard’s and his. He could feel Shepard’s hands, closer than that, passing over the small of back and down to his thighs.

‘You’ve got a—’ Shepard began. Kaidan blinked, looking up at his face, wondering why he hadn’t finished. When Shepard met his eyes, Kaidan realized it was just what he’d been waiting for. ‘— _really_ nice ass.’

‘Thanks,’ Kaidan replied, on instinct, and felt like an idiot immediately after.

People didn’t exactly tell him that all the time. Or ever. He didn’t figure nobody was looking because it’d never been a factor, not until Shepard got his hands on it.

‘No problem,’ Shepard said. ‘Any time, even.’

‘I’m not always this polite,’ Kaidan told him.

‘Sure you are,’ Shepard said.

Yeah, he was.

Kaidan didn’t think of it as a flaw on a good day but right now his cheeks were hot, flushing like the rest of him, while he stared back down at a cluster of freckles in the center of Shepard’s chest to avoid seeing the expression he had on his face. The same way he said Kaidan’s name—that was what it’d look like.

‘You’re driving me crazy, Kaidan,’ Shepard said, burying his face in Kaidan’s hair. That buck and buckle Kaidan had been waiting for—it came, up and down, carrying Kaidan’s weight with it. The friction was so good, the kind of pull and drag that gravity was made out of. Shepard had to feel it too, because he was saying _Kaidan_ again, sharp and soft and almost sweet, against Kaidan’s forehead.

It didn’t last. Nothing ever did. But while it was happening, it was…incredible.

Kaidan hadn’t come in his pants since he was too young and full of hormones to care that he was making a mess—and he wasn’t keen on breaking that record now, especially not when he had company. He liked the control that came with staving off, liked the rush he got from knowing his body was still his no matter what happened to it. But Shepard had a way of making that seem less important.

It wasn’t that Kaidan couldn’t think around him—just that when they were together there were so many more interesting things to think _about_.

It took calling up old memories of brain camp to make him stop short, hips hitching to an unwanted halt. But the ache and throb of a too-sensitive erection was still preferable to embarrassing himself in front of a stranger.

That, and Kaidan didn’t feel like fumbling for a change of clothes in the dark.

‘Shit,’ Shepard hissed, warm and low like the gasp of an airlock being thrown open _before_ it was depressurized.

At least Kaidan wasn’t the only one who felt that way, all pressurized air waiting to blow. He was sick and tired of finding out he’d felt something that wasn’t returned, sick and tired of looking back over his shoulder to find out he was the only one who’d made the jump.

‘Sorry.’ Kaidan tried not to wince at the sound of his voice, the realization that it wasn’t the first time he’d apologized. ‘Can we just— It’s been kind of a weird night, and I… I don’t know.’

Shepard was quiet for a second, the moon over English Bay reflected in his eyes. Kaidan had thought a hundred times about bringing girls back to look at this view. He’d even thought about doing it for a few guys. He knew what the ocean at night could do for his romantic life—and if it wasn’t the view, then it was the big house and all the money—but somehow, he’d never gotten around to exploiting the real estate until now.

Shepard was the first guy Kaidan had ever brought back to his room, the first he’d ever pushed down onto his bed, the first he’d ever kissed under the wide watch of the polished skylight. There hadn’t been time for that kind of thing on Jump Zero, and even if there was, nothing there really _belonged_ to him. Not like this.

So here they were, Kaidan too old for teenage rebellion and Shepard at least old enough to shave, lying in a heap that hadn’t quite relaxed to friendly yet. Kaidan could feel Shepard’s breath on his throat, hands crawling up his thighs to grip his ass.

He gave it a squeeze. Then he chuckled, teeth catching the soft lobe of Kaidan’s ear.

‘Like I said,’ he whispered, ‘you’re driving me crazy.’

At least he didn’t sound pissed. Kaidan didn’t know what he was expecting—actually, that about summed it up—but when Shepard’s hands came around to the front and undid the buckle on his belt, drawing his khakis down over his hips and ass, he knew it had never been that.

Or maybe it had.

What he wanted, what he thought about more than he liked to admit, and what he braced himself to meet—they were all different things. Shepard was different in a new way, surprises that didn’t come with a price.

Not more than some expensive medigel, anyway. Just like the cost of the drink, it technically wasn’t Kaidan’s to pay.

But it was his turn to make a sound that was all space and no breath, while Shepard touched his dick underneath his briefs. He made sure there was nothing covering it up, getting the elastic down over the head and tucking it under Kaidan’s balls, and then he jerked Kaidan off with hands rough from callus and just as strong as they looked.

Kaidan thought about those hands all over him. On his chest, his back, his thighs—his ass. He knew how it felt now, how good it could be. He thought about how wide his legs were spread, how swollen his lips were. He didn’t think for a second about the view at his back, just the way the moonlight looked on Shepard’s skin.

And Shepard watched his face above him instead of the skylight above both of them. At least, Kaidan hoped that was what Shepard was watching, with an expression most people usually saved for the stars.

Kaidan came in Shepard’s hand instead of in his pants. It was easier to clean, not so much less embarrassing, biting down on his bottom lip to keep from making too much noise.

Everything stayed inside his chest.

Well, almost everything. What spilled out was on Shepard’s palm and fingers, thumb rubbing over the slit in a way that made the small of Kaidan’s back turn into burned out thruster fluid, about as raw and blazing just as hot. For a second or two Shepard met his eyes, _definitely_ not looking at the stars, then glanced away double quick.

‘Gonna just,’ he said, reaching for himself.

He didn’t have to finish the thought.

‘No,’ Kaidan said. ‘I mean—let me. I can definitely—you know, it’s only fair.’

He had a little trouble with the buckle on Shepard’s belt; his hands weren’t shaking but he wasn’t seeing as clear as he should’ve. He was supposed to be better, better than most, better than this, good enough to keep his head in a tight situation—but Shepard’s hand had his come on it and that wasn’t in any of the manuals.

So he didn’t think about it. He took Shepard’s dick in his palm and did it for him the way he liked it for himself; it was the only point of reference he had and Shepard came way faster than Kaidan expected, only after a few good strokes.

‘I’ve…got some tissues,’ Kaidan said. At least they came out like words. He reached for the box, antiseptic and antibacterial in the fibers, and grabbed a couple to wipe his hand off and Shepard’s hands next. There was some on Shepard’s stomach so he wiped that off too.

It couldn’t hurt.

‘Hard to believe you’re _really_ this polite,’ Shepard said.

Kaidan’s hands stilled. ‘Is that such a bad thing?’

‘No.’ Shepard brushed his thumb—the same thumb that’d been on Kaidan’s dick only a few minutes ago—over the backs of Kaidan’s knuckles. ‘I told you—it drives me crazy. That’s not a bad thing.’

‘Not a good thing, either,’ Kaidan said.

‘Says you.’ Shepard lifted Kaidan’s hand to his mouth, tongue following the line his thumb had traced, like he was licking him clean.

It should’ve been weird, or at least unnecessary. That was what the tissues were for and what Kaidan had used them for already. But the whole thing managed to work with Shepard’s mystique. At least, Kaidan felt a tight thermal coil of pleasure settle in his belly, not quite arousal, not so soon, but a cousin of that.

It boded well for the future. Whatever _that_ meant.

‘I _am_ saying.’ Kaidan balled up the tissues in his free hand, tossing them in the general direction of the trash. He tried not to think about retrieving them later, sometime before the maid’s morning shift. ‘Last I checked, crazy wasn’t a compliment. And driving someone there _definitely_ isn’t.’

‘You should probably give it another check,’ Shepard said. ‘The definition’s been updated.’

This time, when he leaned in, Kaidan was ready it for it. The kiss was slow and sloppy, less focused now that they’d both got off, but Kaidan still felt pinned under the weight of Shepard’s attention. He was beginning to wonder whether Shepard even knew how to relax. Kaidan didn’t think he’d seen that happen yet.

‘Seriously,’ Shepard said, though his voice was anything but serious. ‘Show me your dictionary, I’ll make a few adjustments.’

‘That _would_ be a fitting end to the night,’ Kaidan said. Shepard’s fingers curled at the back of his neck, knuckles rubbing where his hair was buzzed short. If he felt the scar there, he didn’t show it. ‘Unless…that was a euphemism for something else.’

Shepard laughed. It wasn’t a sound so much as a collection of smaller clues—his stomach tensing up, breath huffing against Kaidan’s cheek. Kaidan could feel it at the corner of his jaw when Shepard smiled, lips stretching where no one could see it.

He wasn’t the same guy who’d picked Kaidan up at the club, but he _was_ that same guy.

Kaidan knew enough about people to know they could be two things at once—and those two things didn’t have to agree with each other _ever_ , much less always.

Then, like an idiot, he fell asleep.

*


	5. SHEPARD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updating early so I don't update late. Shepard sneaks out and gets a new job. Sort of.

Shepard almost let himself out by way of the balcony.

Somebody’d forgotten to flip the switch on the skylight, so when the sun first started to come up, Shepard was wide awake and ready to go. The only problem was that someone was still in bed, sleeping peacefully, just like a baby.

Not that he looked like one. He didn’t act like one, either—not on the dance floor and not out behind the club and not in his own bedroom. But it was so much easier to sleep when you felt safe and sound in a place called home than when you didn’t.

Or so Shepard had heard. He’d never experienced the other side of the phenomenon for himself.

The bed was comfortable and the view was exactly what you’d expect from a house like this one. Maybe it wasn’t as good as something off-world, a new orbit, the horizon just a row of stars that’d blind you if you stared straight into ‘em. Shepard had seen all the movies—he never paid full price of admission, either—and he knew what it was supposed to look like way out there. This wasn’t it.

But it sure was close.

The sunlight on the water was too quiet, too small, a private glitter instead of something the whole Citadel shared. Shepard slipped out from under Kaidan’s arm, slung heavy across his chest, and found his shirt, did the buckle on his belt, testing the lock on the sliding door. He was halfway out when he realized he didn’t have his boots.

That meant sneaking all the way down to the first floor and going out the right way instead of the one that said, loud and clear, _I shouldn’t be here_. It was still early enough Shepard didn’t think breakfast would be waiting for him on the table, but there was always the chance of running into a maid.

Maybe he’d get lucky, and the Alenkos would be big into maintenance VIs.

Going down the stairs in his socks with the holes in them felt about as shitty as it should’ve. When Kaidan woke up to realize he was gone, the first thing he’d do was check that all the house valuables were still in place—Shepard knew that.

So the only thing he’d leave behind as a goodbye was proving _somebody_ wrong and not taking anything.

If Finch only knew the opportunities Shepard was passing up…

Well, what Finch didn’t know didn’t hurt him. Not all the time. Now and then, it earned Shepard a couple of broken ribs, usually without the comfort of an attractive stranger looking after them, but that was the thing. It was always possible.

Finch didn’t listen to him when he said there was always a bright side. Especially with the red sand business still going on.

Shepard stepped into his boots. He had no trouble bending over, though he did touch the spot that should’ve still been hurting, rubbing his thumb over the ridges of his ribs. Everything was fine—ship-shape, even. He could’ve taken marching orders right then and there, or enlisted, with the help of some fudged dates, with the Alliance that afternoon.

It hadn’t been such a bad night—only like most good dreams, it _did_ have to end.

Shepard slid an old, disabled credit chit he kept in his back pocket for exactly this kind of thing through the door, using it to jimmy it open without setting off any house alarms in the process. He thought about Kaidan sleeping on one side, turned toward Shepard, holding him through the night. He thought about the view not from the balcony but the one from the skylight, watching Kaidan’s face instead of the stars while he came. He thought about the stop-motion memories on the walls, all those fireworks.

Then he left the place behind him without looking back.

The walk to Gastown from  English Bay was a long one, but Shepard’s boots were brand new. They could take it. Whether or not Shepard could take the sights… That was another story. 

By the time he made it back to East Hastings, he was _just_ starting to feel it in his calves. That was what he got for sleeping on a soft bed all night, body pressed warm against Kaidan Alenko’s. It was a far cry from waking up wrapped around the steel support beam that bisected his apartment. One night wasn’t enough to get used to something, but it _was_ enough to remind him of what he was missing out on, to let his whole body know what it just couldn’t have.

Shepard didn’t need it spelled out for him. His imagination was good enough that he’d had a clear picture in his mind _before_ Kaidan’s family photos came along.

He flexed his toes, stretching the stiff muscles in his legs before tapping the soles of his boots against the pavement, one before the other. The walk hadn’t done much to clear his head, thinking about Kaidan the whole time, but the acrid smell of rusted metal and rotting garbage blew straight through his memories of clean, salty air. Nothing said home like the reminder he was finally back in the dregs of Vancouver, where city maintenance never _quite_ got around to making sure the old structures were up to code.

The landlords couldn’t rent them without making the proper renovations, and eventually the undesirables that made the neighborhood a real-estate hazard moved on in. It wasn’t a bad arrangement, everybody making do with whatever they could hold onto. Shepard’s place was ground-floor, near a few other Reds. He didn’t need a view as much as he was looking for easy access.

If he went out a window, he didn’t want to have to worry about sticking the landing.

They’d lost one of their guys that way a month back when Torch took a four-story drop off scaffolding that was about three years behind needing reinforcement. The shattered femur wasn’t enough to kill him, but without access to the kind of high grade medical supplies they saw on the west side, it was a permanent blow to the leg.

Crippled in East Hastings was _almost_ as bad as dead anywhere else.

Shepard rubbed his ribs again, then quit poking at it. Bad habits like that pointed out weak-spots, and all the imagination in the world couldn’t sweet talk a guy out of the repercussions when somebody picked up on what side you were favoring.

Even after all the exercise, Shepard was feeling good. Not so great when he saw the ladder on the scaffolding was down, even if there was always a possibility that some stray—or some Gastown orphan—had knocked the thing loose while climbing onto high ground for the night.

It didn’t have to mean bad news.

Maybe Finch’s negative attitude was rubbing off on him.

Shepard took the back route around anyway, cutting through one of the narrow cul-de-sacs, stepping over loose garbage and rusted metal. It wasn’t so hard to believe it was all part of the same city or that a place with views like the one Shepard had spent all night staring at would be so ugly at the same time. People were like that, and turians, and krogans, and everyone—but whether or not they were something pretty hiding something ugly or something ugly hiding something pretty all depended on where you were coming from.

Shepard stopped next to a wall streaked with oil stains, old ones, kind of like a collection of family memories—the closest thing to decoration they had down in East Hastings. The door to the first level was open, not even an inch, but that told Shepard everything he needed to know.

Only problem was, it told him everything a split second too late.

Somebody shouted—not one of the Reds—and the next thing Shepard knew, hands were closing around his arms, holding him back before he could make a run for it. He was half-expecting somebody to slip him some gas, knock him out—or crack him over the head, which’d do the job just as easy and about twenty times as cheap—but another hand closed around his mouth instead, wearing reinforced gloves so Shepard couldn’t bite it.

He thought about it, though. Stupid as it was, it might’ve at least been satisfying, until he chipped a tooth.

‘It’s in your best interests to shut up and listen,’ a voice said from behind him.

It was in everyone’s best interests to shut up and listen. Words to live by, Shepard thought, but the hand covering his mouth made it difficult to share the observation.

He couldn’t answer, so he let himself go slack—ready to tense up again at a moment’s notice, but the first rule was playing dead in the wild.

Nobody wasted ammo on you if you were already down.

‘That’s better. There’s always _one_ smart one in every group.’ An asari stepped out from behind Shepard, looking him over. Shepard tried to give her his best angle, most of it covered up by a merc’s armored fingers. ‘There has to be—otherwise _you’d_ all be dead. Are you that smart one, kid?’

Obviously, Shepard would’ve liked to think so. It certainly wasn’t Finch, although he was a pretty sure shot. They all had their talents, and the ones who didn’t, nobody remembered.

Shepard shrugged.

The asari gestured and the hand on his mouth pulled back, not before jerking Shepard’s chin down, making sure he showed some respect. Shepard licked his lips and made a face at the taste left there, spitting it out onto the street and narrowly missing his own new boots.

‘Did that make you feel better?’ the asari asked.

‘Yeah, actually—it did,’ Shepard said.

The asari sighed. ‘Humans. You’re all so _young._ It used to tick me off hearing other asari say that, but they’re right, aren’t they? Especially the _adolescents_.’

‘You got a problem with humans?’ Shepard asked. His voice was too loud, more confident than he felt. ‘Boy are _you_ on the wrong planet, lady.’

‘Aria,’ the asari said. ‘Aria T’Loak—not that I expect that to mean anything to you, out here in the _Sol_ system.’

She said it the way some guys talked about puking their guts out after a dextro-amino protein mix-up. It wasn’t the first time Shepard had heard an alien express less than fond feelings for Earth. Hell, he was right there with them most days.

It wasn’t his favorite spot in the galaxy, even if he had nothing to compare it to yet. Whatever was out there _had_ to be better. Law of averages or something.

‘How about you tell me what you need and I can decide whether it means something?’ Shepard said.

When in doubt, make yourself useful. When in doubt, let the other guy think he was bigger and more important than you were. Shepard was just lucky that his sense of self-preservation outstripped his ego every time. Rolling over was no easy feat for some earthborn, who were so used to fighting for every inch of what they had that they didn’t know how to give it up.

Pride, stubbornness, bad attitudes—at least they could call it their own.

But Shepard knew when to hold back. That was why he was still here and a lot of those guys weren’t.

‘Right to the point.’ Aria raised an eyebrow—or maybe it was a tattoo. Shepard couldn’t tell without squinting, and he didn’t feel like giving her the benefit of his curiosity. ‘I can respect that. Anything that gets me from spending a second longer in this dump than I need to.’

‘Easy,’ Shepard said. The hands holding him in place hadn’t relaxed, but he was pretty sure he knew the score by now. Aria was the one to watch. If her attitude changed, then the whole situation could go up like a frag grenade. ‘I’m the one who has to live here.’

‘My heart bleeds,’ Aria said. ‘Speaking of hearts—and bleeding, for that matter—you and I have an enemy in common.’

‘Is it the guy behind me?’ Shepard asked. ‘’Cause I can tell you already, he has _no_ finesse.’

It was enough to make the hands tighten—and, just like Shepard had bargained for, it was _also_ enough to make Aria laugh. She had a dry chuckle, more old turian soldier than asari club dancer, although there had to be a range between the two Shepard was missing. ‘Cute. _Real_ cute. But it’s not like I’m paying him to be gentle with gang orphans, now am I?’

‘And it’s not like you’re paying _me_ for anything.’ Shepard paused, letting them both think about it for a second. ‘…Yet.’

‘Yet,’ Aria confirmed. ‘Like I said—we have an enemy in common. According to my sources, you and your _boys_ —the Tenth Street Reds—pulled a job off a couple of nights ago moving some red sand. The goods were supposed to come to me and they didn’t. That means I don’t get what I want, and you don’t get paid.’

‘Vancouver.’ Shepard shook his head. ‘And they make it look so pretty on all the commercial spots.’

‘We _both_ know that’ll get you as far as a single krogan testicle on Tuchanka,’ Aria said. ‘But what’s stopping me from thinking _your_ little gang didn’t run off with the stuff first?’

‘Our…common enemy, perhaps?’ Shepard said.

Aria took a step closer. Shepard could see now that it was definitely a tattoo and a pretty one at that, with a meaning Shepard didn’t think he’d ever know. ‘Only the bastard’s gone missing. No guy, no goods—that puts me in a pretty bad mood. Not that I’m blaming you for what happened, kid, but you know how it is. Somebody’s gotta be held accountable.’

‘So…what you’re saying is, I should be proactive.’ Shepard freed his arm, moving slow, careful not to show off any kind of aggression—just rubbing his chin in thought. ‘Just a little ambush and friendly advice first thing in the morning.’

‘I like to keep my afternoons free,’ Aria said.

‘Me? I’m all about the nighttime,’ Shepard replied. ‘But I think I can see where you’re coming from.’

Aria’s smile wasn’t as pretty as her tattoos. ‘Good. I like being right—and you _are_ the smart one. Your friend kept singing like a Salarian during a free matinee. Couldn’t get him to stop cursing long enough to let him know we’re on the same side, really. _If_ you cooperate.’

‘I’m gonna need some supplies,’ Shepard said. ‘And my friend, if you didn’t kill him for pissing you off yet.’

‘Get me my guy or get me my money—whatever it takes,’ Aria told him, ‘and I’ll see about what I can spare.’

Shepard held out his hand to shake and she took it, a firm grip he would’ve expected from Jimmy ‘The Krogan’ Johnson. ‘Every little bit helps,’ he said.

*


	6. ALENKO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaidan tries to wash that Shepard out of his hair.

Kaidan wasn’t about to go back to _Inferno_ any time soon. And if he did, it wasn’t going to be because he thought he’d see Shepard there two nights in a row.

Guys like Shepard didn’t stay all that long in the same place. Waking up alone had been proof enough.

But if he believed all that, then he had a bridge on Omega to sell himself.

Kaidan had been half-expecting—or maybe that was half-hoping—to see a note, find one of his model ships missing, any sign that Shepard had even been there in bed with him in the first place.

It was his fault for letting Shepard in and his fault for falling asleep without thinking about the repercussions, not Shepard’s fault for being gone the next morning.

Only someone whose brain was seriously rattled woke up and _wanted_ to find something missing. Kaidan didn’t know Shepard, but he thought he’d known the score. There was always going to be a certain amount of risk involved in taking a stranger back to your place—double that risk if the stranger had holes in his socks and looked like he slept in an alley outside _Inferno_ most nights.

Kaidan wasn’t judging. He’d just expected something different. It was only natural to be surprised when someone didn’t measure up to expectations, bad or good.

Still, Shepard could have left a note or something. No way a guy that sharp didn’t know how to write.

Thinking about it was going to give Kaidan another headache. Between the drinks last night and the thump of the music—not to mention the rest of what he’d done to get his blood pumping—he could already feel one starting behind his eyes, just as sharp as Shepard.

That ship had left the docking bay. Experience told him he had at least a few hours before it set in full force—just enough to start the day before he went right back to bed with some high grade painkillers.

It seemed like a waste to shut out the view, the sun already up over the bay. But then, it wasn’t so great when there was no one to share it with.

‘I’m not gonna say I told you so,’ Kaidan said, rubbing the heel of his hand along the rough of his jaw. ‘…And now I’m talking to myself. Great. Just great.’

There was a note from his mom on the kitchen table; _Pudding,_ it said, and he almost stopped reading there. A guy expressed a preference for gelatin proteins over solid _one time_ as a kid, and all of a sudden he had a nickname. _Gone to Shaughnessy with the girls for the day. You’re welcome to join us! Bring a bathing suit._

Kaidan couldn’t crumple the data pad in his hands, so he settled for scowling at it instead, like the message would transmit straight to his mom’s sat-phone. The absolute _last_ thing he felt like doing was chatting it up with a bunch of his mom’s friends poolside at the local country club.

He could still smell Shepard on his skin, and the idea of replacing that with chlorine and asari-blue mimosas made his headache even worse.

Creepy, but it was the only confirmation he had, the only physical reminder that Shepard had been with him at all last night.

…And the rest of _Inferno,_ too.

He smelled like smoke and sweat and ass.

The thought was dirty in the clean house and he knew he had to do something about it, that he couldn’t just stay in his club clothes with the covers pulled up over his head all day. That life—it wasn’t him.

At least, it wasn’t him most days.

For the second time since he’d brought Shepard home, not exactly to meet the parents, he headed for the med supplies in the master bathroom. It was big and empty in there with nobody else around, just a maintenance VI scrubbing the tiles, bleeping while it rolled past—real great for the headache. Kaidan popped the med kit top and listened to the hiss of air decompress. He checked to make sure all the medigel caps were screwed on tight, then found the painkillers he needed, the only ones that worked when the pressure got in at the temples and underneath his eyes.

Back when he didn’t know how to deal with them, he’d rubbed his cheekbones so hard once they bruised. His mom said it made him look like a raccoon, and did he remember how they used to have problems with those before they moved to English Bay?

Yeah. Kaidan remembered.

It was this haze of _stuff_ that’d happened—before brain camp happened. He could separate the two parts of his life almost as easily as he split up the big white pills, one for the morning and one at night, and an extra in the afternoon if it was a bad day.

It was his own fault. Most things, not all of them. Being a biotic wasn’t but the rest, accidents and mistakes and some things he’d done on purpose—like sneaking out to _Inferno_ for no reason, just to fool himself into thinking he was living on the edge or living in the first place—that was all on him.

He took one pill, although he thought about taking two. It wasn’t the first time, but he never got to that point, never lifted a second to his mouth. Chances were, when he tried to swallow, he’d choke on it. He didn’t bother drinking anything to wash it down and he could feel it sticking in his throat first, his chest second.

A hot bath, he thought. That’d help. It always did. And his mom didn’t mind when he used the Jacuzzi, jets streaming hot water into the small of his back and over the base of his neck.

That was where the scar was—also where he held most of his tension.

No surprises there.

There wasn’t any real reason to hold on to one night. Other people, probably anyone else at _Inferno_ , would have been able to accept it for what it was. Something that happened—something that didn’t last.

Kaidan told himself that was exactly why he’d been there, to get that perspective, to loosen up. And the hot water helped with the rest, easing his body down after he shucked his clothes.

It felt good. It always did. The bath practically burned his skin and when he closed his eyes, he was just swimming in darkness, listening to the jets bubble. New water stopped flowing but the temperature adjustment kept him comfortable, waiting for the painkiller to kick in.

Even if he didn’t smell like somebody else anymore, he knew he shouldn’t want to. Getting it off, getting clean—it was something he needed to do. He could toss his clothes into the wash and they’d be clean, too, like nothing _had_ happened.

If nobody knew…

That didn’t mean it hadn’t been real.

Kaidan’s eyes opened, water beading on his lashes until he blinked the condensation off. Not everything had to connect back to the stuff in brain camp.

He was going to get over it.

The comfort, the ease, the weightlessness he’d been feeling—all of that disappeared the second he thought about it. And that was nobody’s fault but his, too.

No one blamed him for what had happened with the commander, and maybe that was part of the problem. In Kaidan’s world, everything had consequences. He’d been raised to believe that when you did something bad, somewhere along the line there was a slap on the wrist waiting for you. He’d killed a turian and the Alliance brass was more interested in covering it up than locking him away.

Then, he’d taken home a gang kid from a club that was more famous for its back door dealings than its music or its drinks—and his mom left him a note inviting _Pudding_ to eat imported quail eggs and swim in the filtered pool.

None of it made any sense. It wasn’t any wonder Kaidan’s head was splitting.

He thought about Shepard just because he could, hair buzzed regulation-short, with that texture Kaidan had thought about touching all night. He’d never quite got around to it. Classic Alenko. He wondered how a guy like Shepard dealt with his headaches, before he remembered he’d been dancing on a quad of broken ribs half the night.

A little pain between the eyes wouldn’t even have slowed him down.

Okay, so it was more than a _little_ pain. But Kaidan figured that Shepard was the type who’d force himself to adapt to anything, L2 implant or no.

Not everyone had a Jacuzzi to soak off their problems. And even the ones that did couldn’t exactly advertise it as a cure-all—Kaidan’s issues went way too deep for hot water to scour away.

He only realized his pill had kicked in when the phone rang and it _didn’t_ trigger a chain-reaction of suffering. He winced, but it was more out of habit, for fear of who might be on the other end more than discomfort at the sound.

There was a remote near the bath to turn on the hands-free. Kaidan toyed with the idea of not answering at all, but when he saw the ID strip flash _M. ALENKO_ he knew there was no point in ignoring the call.

Moms kept calling when no one picked up. It was kind of their thing.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Hi, I mean. Hi, Mom.’

‘Kaidan.’ Mom sounded airy, bright, just like the pool scene she was living in. Kaidan could practically see the sunlight glinting off the chlorinated water and even though the pain killers were strong enough that he didn’t have to feel anything, he came close to squinting. The anticipation, just knowing it was out there, was enough. ‘Have you been inside all day? No—it doesn’t matter. Don’t listen to me. I just wanted to make sure you had something for lunch.’

Kaidan hadn’t. His stomach didn’t growl at the idea—because again, he didn’t feel anything. From his head to his feet.

He only wished it was true.

Honestly, he _could_ still feel, his mom’s voice one of those things that got through to him, even when she was far away and he was only half listening. So long as she didn’t hear him splashing around, she wouldn’t know—although she might smile, that part-of-the-way smile showing off the fine wrinkles around her eyes, and think it was better than the alternative.

He’d made it out of bed, read her note and everything. That was good for him.

Kaidan swallowed. ‘I got your note,’ he said, instead of something else.

‘Oh? That’s good. You know, there’s still time for you to—’ Kaidan heard a burst of laughter, chatter in the background, like white noise or static on one of the old intercoms they’d used to practice strategizing with. Rahna on the other end, whispering to him—she was never that good for partnering with, but somehow, having distractions to work through helped in the end, even if they didn’t at the time. ‘—join us. If you’re feeling up to it. No pressure, nothing definitive, but everyone here’s dying to meet you. There’s even some kids here your age, you know. Joanna has _two_ daughters and…’ Kaidan didn’t have to close his eyes to see her, smiling all the way but not meaning it, just to cover up the pause. ‘…and Marilyn’s son, too.’

Her voice didn’t falter for long. Kaidan was reminded how he didn’t sound like either of his parents, how there were parts of them he recognized in the mirror but when it came to tone and inflection, he was on his own.

‘Sounds…like a party,’ Kaidan said.

‘I was thinking it might be nice, that’s all,’ Mom replied. ‘But you really don’t—you really _don’t_ have to. I’m not even trying to make you feel guilty. I swear, it comes naturally or not at all.’

This time, it was his mom’s turn to laugh. Kaidan tried it out but again, it didn’t sound like her. It didn’t sound like anyone, not even himself.

‘I’ll think about it,’ he promised.

She knew that meant no, but she told him she was looking forward to the possibility anyway, right before she hung up.

Kaidan thought about slipping underneath the surface of the water and resetting his perspective. He could go through all the motions, dry off his hair and find something to eat. Maybe some pudding.

Then again, maybe not.

But eventually the painkiller was going to wear off, long before the taste was gone from Kaidan’s mouth or the memory of the pill being stuck in his throat faded all the way. He cleared it, the noise echoing off the bathroom walls, before he fumbled for the pad to drain the bath.

By the time he was dry he felt hungry—enough to eat a little something. By the time he was dressed, covering up a few of the bruises from Shepard’s hands and mouth, he’d decided he was going back to _Inferno_ again that night.

It beat spending the evening pretending to be someone he used to be, instead of acting like someone he wasn’t.

If Shepard didn’t seem like the type to be in the same place twice, then Kaidan could convince himself he wasn’t really going to see him. He just needed a place to lose his head for awhile—at least until the one he’d been stuck with started treating him better.

Maybe he’d meet someone who could actually dance this time.

Kaidan rubbed his hands over his eyes, the pressure helping him focus. It was laughable to pretend like Shepard’s dancing had mattered worth a damn. There’d even been something endearing about the way he tried _so_ hard not to move to the music. Some people just had that natural charisma, and it didn’t matter how they behaved or what they were doing. They drew in strangers like satellites.

‘You know you’re losing it, right?’ Kaidan said. He liked the way his voice bounced back in the empty room, an echo of himself that didn’t have to be familiar. It was more like the boy he used to be, spending summers in Kitsilano, swimming the big outdoor pool end-to-end.

He had a lot of memories of _home_ that didn’t extend to this house. Somehow, they’d followed along anyway. Memories were sticky like that and tough to shake them loose once they got their hooks in.

There was a mirror by the big staircase, where Kaidan stopped to check himself out before he left. He’d tailored his clothes a little more carefully this time because now that he’d seen what _Inferno_ looked like from the inside, he had more of an idea how _not_ to stick out like a hanar in the sauna room. There was nothing he could do about his hair, growing out too quickly from the buzz he’d had back at brain camp. It looked better wet than dry, but he was getting used to it. Being as pale as he was wouldn’t matter in the dim club lighting, only a few bright strobes per minute flashing over his skin, and the shadows under his eyes he was still kind of into.

Those and the wrinkled blankets on his bed were all the proof he had that there’d been a guy named Shepard with his hand down Kaidan’s pants upstairs.

Seriously, though. It was time to stop thinking about it.

He needed to get out—his mom was right about that. But the where wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. All the nice things that Kaidan was supposed to enjoy didn’t make sense to him anymore and he needed to work it out somewhere else, as far away from that life as possible.

Somewhere he wasn’t expected to make polite conversation, or even say anything at all.

He didn’t bother grabbing a coat, even though the air was going to be cool once the sun went down—which was exactly when the dancing started.

*


	7. SHEPARD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finch thinks he has their guy made. Shepard tries to make nice with Kaidan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about lack of replies lately! Things have been a little crazy at home, but hopefully I'll have a chance to respond soon with my usual long-winded comments! <3

Shepard was off the hot-plate and back in _Inferno_.

At least the view from the balcony could’ve been worse.

It wasn’t as good as it’d been the night before. Nothing was _that_ good. Just because Shepard had a VIP pass now didn’t mean he saw anything he hadn’t seen already; in fact, it was what he _didn’t_ see that stood out more than anything else.

He scanned the crowd once from above, enjoying the high ground for strategic reasons instead of personal ones. The card in his back pocket wasn’t heavy but he could feel it pressed against his body; he knew what it meant. He had access, backing. _Sponsorship_ , almost.

Maybe he wasn’t moving up in the world for long but physically, in the moment, he _was_ higher than usual—in the literal sense of the word.

It wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

It came with a price, with a collar and a leash.

Having eyes on him everywhere he went was worse than being pinned by a turian bouncer, given the usual shit just for existing. And for looking like a gang member—which, all right, was _exactly_ what Shepard was. They weren’t wrong about that. But the truth now was that he was no better than a hostage and Finch along with him, Aria’s guys keeping tabs on them while they swept the place.

Do the job right and maybe he’d get out of this one without being pulverized.

Do it wrong, and even Kaidan Alenko’s super secret medical stash wouldn’t make much difference for the remains.

Shepard grinned.

‘You’re smiling.’ Finch laughed nervously in disbelief, choking on smoke. ‘Of _course_ you’re smiling. The _hell,_ Shep. Don’t tell me you’re thinking about your new _boyfriend_.’

Shepard leaned over the balcony, staring down at the dance floor. From way up where he was now, everything looked like a different world, but it gave him a better idea of where all the exits were. It was easier to see who was coming and who was going, too, while he tried to figure out who looked like they’d just ripped Aria T’Loak _and_ the Tenth Street Reds off over one measly shipment of Red Sand.

‘And if I am?’ Shepard asked.

‘Then you need to get your head in the game,’ Finch said. ‘ _Shit._ At least it’s not a turian this time. And here I thought they were your type.’

Shepard rolled his eyes. The conversation wasn’t necessary but keeping Finch distracted was. If he didn’t have time to feel jumpy then he forgot to _look_ it, and it all worked to their benefit in the end. Being too obvious had been their problem the first time, when they’d missed the exchange.

There was always the chance their guy was off-world by now. But if Shepard knew the market—and he did—the disaffected earthborn kids who used Red Sand to get high would be exactly where he’d want to sell, and fast. Use up the goods and there wasn’t any evidence left to trace.

And the best way to do _that_ was to deal it where everyone was looking to have some fun, the most you could without leaving the orbit.

There were other clubs in Vancouver, but none that were so free with their clientele. _Inferno_ wasn’t famous because of the music they played or the dancers they hired. There were thousands of clubs in hundreds of other worlds that served way better drinks and while Shepard liked the light-show, it was nothing to write your mother about.

He didn’t have a mother, but he’d heard that was what you did with one. Wrote her stuff.

No, _Inferno_ had made its name early on in the Vancouver scene by being a hub of underworld activity. Everyone with an ear to the ground wound up there, either to wet their throats or to get them cut, sometimes both. It saw a lot of off-world action for the same reason—aliens looking to get the skinny on earth could usually manage to find a foothold with one of the bigger gangs, _if_ they had the skills to back themselves up. It was a tough room, but _Inferno_ had more information than the local VI set up for tourists. Shepard had known a turian once who’d got into a mess of trouble with an outfit calling them themselves the Blue Suns; he’d managed to get the guy off-world at the end of the day, but not before Finch got all kinds of _ideas_ about them.

But they were ideas Shepard didn’t mind encouraging. When Finch’s mouth was flapping, that meant his mind wasn’t working. Easier to make decisions that way, to go with a gut he wouldn’t have known was there otherwise.

‘Your new blue friend didn’t happen to mention how in the Hell we’re supposed to _find_ this guy, did she?’ Finch added.

The extra muscle in the place was making him sweat, even more than usual.

‘Someone looking to move that amount of Red Sand we’re missing?’ Shepard asked. There was a commotion by the door, some blonde with a ponytail and her turian boyfriend getting hassled. Shepard tightened his hands on the balcony rail and he could _feel_ Aria’s paid batarians shifting grip on their guns. ‘They know they ticked us _and_ Big Blue off—which means they’re gonna be looking to unload and _fast_ , Finch. And people looking to do things quickly? Usually make mistakes.’

‘I asked for your plan,’ Finch said. ‘Not a lecture.’

‘My _plan_ is not to get killed,’ Shepard said. ‘Anything outside of that’s just…improvising.’

‘Great,’ Finch said. ‘Real _super_.’

‘Good to have you on board.’ Shepard stretched his arms out high above the dance floor. He cracked a stiff joint in his shoulder and Finch winced at the sound it made. 

Attitude for attitude. That’s what it bought him. With Finch, Shepard could afford to spend it, a little at a time to ease up on the pressure so nobody popped. Not on Shepard’s watch.

‘Classic Shep, though.’ Finch rubbed the back of his neck, doing his best impression of playing it cool. He almost got there—almost wasn’t _enough_ , but it was encouraging to watch him try. ‘No plan, just…don’t get killed. There’s worse things out there than dying, you know.’

‘No kidding,’ Shepard said.

Finch’s lip curled. ‘ _But_ ,’ he continued, ‘I think we’ve already found our guy.’

Shepard blinked. It was possible—just not damn likely—that Finch had picked up on somebody who’d made them before he did. Shepard was keeping a lot of things in the air and the fact that they were playing his song from last night, the one he’d danced with Kaidan during, wasn’t helping any. ‘So, care to fill me in?’ he asked.

‘Six o’clock. Some guy’s been watching us from the bottom level for at least a minute. Won’t stop staring, actually.’ When Finch re-distributed his weight, Aria’s batarians did the same. The whole situation was primed to go up in smoke at the first shout and Shepard did _not_ want to be in the crossfire when it did.

If he had a plan—and he didn’t, but _if_ he did—it was to bring two opposing elements together and sneak out while they took care of the business they had with each other, not with the Reds. Sure, Aria had given Shepard an omni-tool of his own and everything to work with, nicer gear than he’d see again for years or maybe ever, but the batarians were making him antsy.

They were supposed to be on his side. But Shepard knew better than to trust in _that_.

First of all, they’d shoot at just about anything. There was nothing in the rulebooks saying Shepard was off-limits because there _were_ no rulebooks.

And, if there had been, there’d be a picture of Shepard’s face instead of the definition oftarget practice.

Slowly, Shepard shifted his focus to the right coordinates, not so fast that anybody’d see him and pick up on the maneuver. He wondered if this was what it was like piloting a ship, his hands empty, no glowing dash lights underneath flashing, only the strobe of the actual dance lights pulsing in time with the music.

There, on level one, was Kaidan Alenko.

When their eyes met, Kaidan looked away. Not quick enough, but it was cute that the impulse was still there, that he thought it even meant something.

‘Guess we could flank him pretty easy,’ Finch said. He might’ve recognized Kaidan, but only from behind. ‘Take him out, no problem. _Anyone_ thinks they can push Red Sand and turn an easy profit these days, but it’s obvious he doesn’t have the chops.’

‘Damn right about that,’ Shepard replied, ‘because he isn’t our guy.’

Finch paused. He didn’t groan—another sound that’d have the batarians firing rounds faster than you could say _Athabasca Class Freighter_ —but he probably wanted to. ‘…Maybe if he _turned around_ I’d remember him?’

‘You take level three,’ Shepard said. ‘Scout around and find out if anybody’s selling. I’ll head down to level one, see what I can scope out.’ Finch gave him a look and Shepard turned, nice and easy and slow, so everyone watching would know he wasn’t pulling a fast one. Yet. ‘Hey—he _could_ know something. Seems like he might just be a regular, and definitely the type who’d be looking to buy.’

‘Only a guy with your luck,’ Finch muttered, but it was the best plan they had.

 _Luck_ only had a _little_ something to do with it.

It wasn’t hard to reach Kaidan, especially since he wasn’t bothering with the dance floor this time around. Close up, Shepard could see him nursing a glass of something golden and imported and _definitely_ more expensive than the drink Shepard had stolen for him just last night. There were lights in the ice, glittering like stars against a brandy-colored sky.

‘Hey there,’ Shepard said. Kaidan’s sleeve was rolled up above his elbow, so he took the advantage, fingers brushing over his forearm. It was better than a handshake. ‘And here I thought lightning never strikes in the same place twice.’

Shepard felt it—Kaidan’s muscles tightening up, the unnatural pause in the natural rhythm of the music, like a speaker blowing out. Nobody else stopped. It was only the two of them who even noticed, who even cared.

‘It doesn’t, actually,’ Kaidan replied, recovering—for the most part—although his fingers stiffened immediately around the width of his glass. ‘There are…countermeasures in place for that kind of thing. At least, there are in all the major metropolises. The closest unaltered storms these days are probably out on Mars.’

Shepard cleared his throat. It was either that or crack up, and he got the sense Kaidan Alenko wouldn’t appreciate some jumped-up street kid laughing in his face.

For some reason, they liked each other okay. Shepard was less interested in the punchlines to bad jokes and more interested in keeping it that way.

‘On Mars, huh?’ Shepard leaned in close enough to smell the liquor on Kaidan’s breath. Definitely brandy, and definitely not his first.

Was it a problem? He couldn’t tell yet.

‘Yeah—yes. Mars,’ Kaidan said. He met Shepard’s gaze, then looked away quickly, like he’d been caught with his hand in the wrong pocket. And Finch had thought _this_ was the guy capable of lifting Red Sand from right between a gang and an asari kingpin. Shepard was gonna have to recruit smarter guys, effective starting now. ‘They have…research facilities there. My dad told me about them.’

‘I’m trying to flirt with you and you bring up _research?_ ’ Shepard asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the batarians, two following Finch up to level three, to a bunch of private rooms he’d stick out in like a sore thumb. It was fine. If Shepard knew their guy, he wasn’t up there anyway. ‘ _And_ your dad. Fair enough, Kaidan. I know when I’ve struck out.’

‘What?’ Kaidan’s eyes were darker than the brandy, but still warm. Shepard had seen them under strobes and in the moonlight. He didn’t have to wrestle over which he liked best. ‘No, I wasn’t—I didn’t mean…’

‘Put a pin in what you did mean, then,’ Shepard said, taking Kaidan under the arm. He steered him around so the batarians wouldn’t be able to read their conversation. There were advantages to working with someone taller. There were advantages to talking face to face, watching Kaidan’s lips, too. ‘I want to hear about it later. But right now, I need your help.’

‘You need… _my_ help.’ Kaidan blinked and it was cute; not cute like his ass was cute but cute like he was drinking brandy and he had no idea what was going on and there were model ships in his bedroom. All the stuff Shepard knew didn’t compare to half the stuff he didn’t, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t like the idea it anyway. ‘This is some kind of joke, right? And all your friends are going to show up in a second laughing or…whatever.’

‘I don’t have friends,’ Shepard said. ‘But I _do_ have an asari smuggler hot on my ass tonight. Not a turian this time; I like to shake things up, never show a guy the same thing twice. You know how it is.’

‘So you… _need_ me.’ Kaidan blinked again, less cute. Shepard could see it the moment his face got hard and closed off. Maybe people were trying to pull that on him all the time. A guy like Kaidan in a place like _Inferno_ —it made sense. He was easy to peg from a floor away even without the natural assets. Ass included. ‘Is your luck always like this?’

‘That’s what they tell me. Usually with the same look on their face as you’re wearing right now, too.’ Shepard rubbed his thumb over Kaidan’s forearm to smooth things out, literally, remembering the way the muscles had flexed the night before—Kaidan bracing himself over Shepard’s hips, having trouble with the belt buckle, everything. From the way Kaidan’s skin got all bumpy, hair shivering, he had to be remembering the same thing. ‘I still owe you another dance—and another drink. And I’d _like_ to be able to make good on that.’

‘You’re serious.’ Kaidan licked his lips, like he realized for the first time how much he’d had to drink—how he wished he was coming at this with a clearer head. ‘Of course you’re serious. Just…look at you.’

‘You looking at me, Kaidan?’ Shepard asked.

Kaidan closed his eyes, a longer blink, about as cute as the first one. ‘I’m trying not to,’ he said. ‘I know I’m going to regret this, but… What exactly do you think I can help you with? _Alenko_ only goes so far in a place like this, Shepard. Turian bouncers listen, fine, but—asari kingpins? My dad’s Alliance but he’s not… He’s just Alliance.’

 _Just Alliance_ , Shepard thought. ‘That’s not the kind of help I meant,’ he said. ‘But I don’t know, Kaidan—what if I tell you and you get all regulations on me like you did last night with the med kit?’

‘You are _really_ ,’ Kaidan began, putting his unfinished drink down on a tray as it passed by. Shepard tried not to stare after it, wishing he’d had the chance to keep it from going to waste. ‘…something. You know that?’

‘I’ve heard it before,’ Shepard admitted. ‘I like to think it’s a compliment.’

‘Yeah, well, it isn’t,’ Kaidan said. ‘Not really. It’s complicated.’

‘Just like you.’ Shepard gave his arm a squeeze and Kaidan took a deep, quick breath.

‘If I help you,’ he said, ‘am I going to regret it later?’

‘That’s between you and the brandy, Kaidan.’ Shepard didn’t hesitate when he reached up to touch Kaidan’s left sideburn, fingers trailing behind his ear. ‘Let’s just say I’ll owe you one.’

‘More than _one,_ ’ Kaidan said. Maybe it was the colored lights, but he looked flushed.

It was the Alenko version of a _yes, sir_ —and Shepard liked it.

*


	8. ALENKO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaidan and Shepard work well together. And they make out.

Kaidan couldn’t say what he’d been expecting out of a second visit to _Inferno_ , so he didn’t know if this was a disappointment or not.

There had always been hopes of Shepard on the horizon. He couldn’t lie about that, for once not even to himself. It took a certain kind of guts to stand around all night in a club waiting for someone you hadn’t promised to meet there, someone whose first name you didn’t know. Guts and a rattled sense of self—both of those were things Kaidan was carrying in spades. His pulse had doubled alongside the bassline when Shepard pulled him aside, that look in his eyes like maybe he’d been waiting all night for Kaidan, too.

Normally Kaidan didn’t like to be grabbed. But he hadn’t reacted by blasting Shepard halfway across the dance floor, so that had to count for something.

And it was all the justification Kaidan needed to help out in the latest of Shepard’s schemes.

Maybe that was unfair. They hadn’t known each other long enough for Kaidan to be _sure_ that Shepard’s life was always this way, caught on the cusp somewhere between arrest and injury. It was just a hunch. He’d outright laughed when Kaidan had asked why they didn’t call in the authorities to deal with the whole mess, so apparently that wasn’t an option.

The more time Kaidan spent in _Inferno_ , the more it started to feel like the Shaughnessy country club. They featured different recreational activities, sure, and the clients they catered to couldn’t have looked less like each other, but both places felt like their own little worlds, cut off from the logic of the rest of Vancouver.

He was willing to bet there were even a few Red Sand dealers working the steam rooms and the mud baths in Shaughnessy. You just had to know where to look, who to slip a few extra credits for the special treatment.

When he looked at it like that, _Inferno_ almost seemed more honest. Whether or not the music was better, though—that was a matter of personal taste.

‘So we put out the word we’re looking for a hit and this guy just does what—materializes out of thin air?’ Kaidan asked.

‘That’s the plan,’ Shepard said, with a tight smile that told Kaidan he knew it wasn’t much.

‘Are your plans always this good?’ Kaidan didn’t wait for Shepard to answer. ‘No—you know what, don’t say it. Let me live a little while longer under the illusion that people don’t tell you _that_ all the time, too.’

‘Have a little _faith_ , Kaidan,’ Shepard said.

When he snagged someone else’s drink on its way by and knocked it back, quick and self-sure, Kaidan wondered if he was showing off—or if it was a moment of nerves getting the better of him, of _him_ trying to get the better of his nerves.

It could be that Kaidan would never know.

Not with a guy like Shepard.

‘Okay.’ Shepard knocked himself on the chest to clear it, looking for somewhere to ditch the glass. ‘ _Damn_ , that’s a kick. What the hell do they put in that stuff?’

Kaidan let it slide, surprised how easy it was not to ask about it, how easy it was not to answer the question even though he knew how. ‘Probably better that we _don’t_ know.’

‘Glad you’re with me, Kaidan.’ Shepard slipped his arm around Kaidan’s waist, pulling him close. It felt good, but Kaidan knew he couldn’t appreciate it because it was for show more than anything else. ‘Just act natural.’

‘Actually,’ Kaidan said, hesitating a moment before he slung his own arm around Shepard’s shoulders, ‘we shouldn’t. Act natural, I mean. Red Sand’s… It’s not a _natural_ kind of thing. If we’re looking to use, then—I don’t know. _You_ should act like you haven’t had a hit in a while and _I_ should act like I’m the one with money who’s trying to impress you.’ Shepard’s body was warm, his eyes too blue from up close. Kaidan really shouldn’t have had that second whiskey, a preventative measure his dad would’ve lifted a heavy eyebrow at him for. For more reasons than one, absolutely, but the first thing he would’ve said, sighing, was _Strategy, Kaidan._ Then he would’ve asked about _integrity_ and _motives_ and Kaidan would feel smaller, more out of breath than a volus. Even worse was knowing it was his own damn fault, since—as always—there was no one else to blame. ‘That just makes more sense,’ he finished, looking away from Shepard’s face.

He already knew Shepard was staring at him, studying him. And he already knew his feelings were—just like Shepard had said— _complicated_ on the matter.

‘You sure know a lot about Red Sand,’ Shepard said finally.

‘I’ve taken it.’ Kaidan wasn’t as surprised by how easy _that_ was to admit, already knowing how hard it would’ve been with anyone else. But it didn’t make him feel proud; he didn’t want to wear it like a badge of honor in a place like _Inferno_. ‘Haven’t _you_? I guess I just figured…’

‘That I seem like the type?’ Shepard asked, breath tickling Kaidan’s jaw. ‘No. I’ve never taken it. Can’t afford a cut for myself, you know?’

‘No,’ Kaidan said.

‘Yeah,’ Shepard replied. He cleared his throat. ‘Guess that explains why you’re here, though.’

It wasn’t any worse than what Kaidan had assumed about Shepard—but that didn’t mean he had to feel proud about it, either.

‘It’s not like that,’ Kaidan said. ‘It’s really not.’

‘Hey, look—you don’t have to explain yourself to me.’ Shepard was steering him over to the stairs, like he knew all the places where he _could_ buy, and how was it that Kaidan was the one being judged when it was Shepard’s problem and Shepard’s deal? Kaidan had no idea; it was all a part of Shepard’s quick maneuvers. ‘Why not give it a try? Dusting up’s easy, so I’m told.’

‘It’s not illegal when it’s enhancing biotics,’ Kaidan said. ‘Not technically, anyway. And at least it’s not Minagen X3, which _is_.’

‘I hadn’t—heard that,’ Shepard did his best to cover the hitch, but Kaidan heard it anyway.

Was it wrong to get a kick out of having one up on him for once? Probably.

Was Kaidan enjoying it anyway? Hell yeah.

Even at brain camp, they’d monitored Red Sand dosage with clinical precision. That was the only way they could record their results, send their charts back to the Alliance for more funding. They were pioneers, doing humanity a favor by showing how they held their own on the galactic stage.

 _Biotics,_ Commander Vyrnnus had never tired of reminding them, were never a traditional _human_ discipline.

Kaidan had never used Red Sand recreationally, but he still remembered the rush of power he’d got back at Jump Zero while dusting up for the first time. He could see where someone might get addicted to that thrill, especially if biotics didn’t come naturally to them. So maybe he deserved the look Shepard was giving him now, close and a little wary.

Again, Kaidan had nobody to blame but himself. That was what he got for dropping the b-word into what had _almost_ been a normal conversation.

…A normal conversation about the best way to orchestrate a fake drug buy so Shepard could get an asari crime lord off his ass. Maybe normal had never been part of the equation.

‘You know, Kaidan,’ Shepard said. It’d taken him a second to recover—which was only noticeable because he was Shepard—but now he was back with his feet on the ground. ‘I’m starting to think we were meant for each other.’

‘Because so far I’ve managed to keep Vancouver’s criminal element from skinning you alive?’ Kaidan asked. The response came quick and he even managed to ignore the heat in his skin after it was out there, like someone had slapped a thermal gel-pack under his clothes. ‘Yeah. I’m more useful than I look.’

‘Something like that.’ Shepard’s hand tightened at Kaidan’s side, bringing him closer. ‘Why don’t I let you take this one?’

‘So you _do_ have a strategy,’ Kaidan said. ‘It’s a good one, too. Let me do all the work and bail at the first sign of…well, anything, right?’

If that hit a little too close to home, Shepard wasn’t the kind of guy to show it. He rubbed Kaidan’s hip with his thumb and there were all the usual questions to ask himself, like whether or not Shepard couldn’t stop touching him—or whether or not it was all part of the act.

But Kaidan knew how to act, too. He’d been doing it most of his life, first without realizing it, then wishing he hadn’t figured it out. It was easier, more natural, if it happened by accident.

 _Inferno_ still beat Shaughnessy, not to mention any of the daughters—or sons—his mom tried to set him up with.

Kaidan was about to help a gang member out with some kind of illegal drug bust. It was a good thing his dad was off-world.

‘You’re the expert,’ Shepard said. His hand stopped. Kaidan waited for him to loop his thumb through Kaidan’s pocket and at the last second, when it seemed like he wasn’t going to remember, he did, touching him through the fabric. ‘I was serious about partnering up, too.’

‘No chance,’ Kaidan replied, but they made it through the crowd without bumping into each other, and that took skill, timing, an understanding of each other’s bodies and the space they occupied.

Which was exactly what they’d figured out last night.

Kaidan’s skin was warm, his adrenaline somewhere between dancing with a stranger and dusting up, in a middle zone that didn’t have a name yet. It was all natural, _all Kaidan_ , another thing he could—and would—blame on himself later, when it came crashing down. Because it had to crash. Really, was there ever any doubt?

Kaidan flashed his ID to get them into the back where the private rooms were, where everybody was looking to get high on something. He also had to flash some credits, and Shepard reached to get his card, too, but the bouncer shrugged them on inside before he could fish it out.

‘Now _that’s_ how you do it,’ Shepard said, grinning.

‘Or you could get a better fake ID,’ Kaidan pointed out, but it didn’t matter what he said anymore. He was there no matter what happened next, whether Shepard cut and ran or stuck by Kaidan’s side. They had to press closer together to let two all-but-naked asari pass by and Shepard stopped, Kaidan up against the wall, mouth against his jaw, _almost_ kissing his skin.

‘Just so you don’t freak out,’ Shepard said, ‘there’s also two batarians following us. Don’t worry; they’re on our side. …Sort of. As much as batarians are on anybody’s side but the batarians’.’

‘No kidding?’ Kaidan replied, breathless again, like they _had_ been dancing. Maybe this was a part of that, how Shepard took it off the dance floor. How he never showed a guy the same thing twice—by his own admission a _thing_ he was into.

Just not Red Sand.

It didn’t add up and trying to make it fit wasn’t as easy as letting Shepard linger against Kaidan’s chest and between his legs for a few moments longer than he needed to, lips brushing over his jaw, down to the pulse in his throat.

‘You’ve got some…interesting friends,’ Kaidan said, because it was all he could think of.

‘Is that what you call friendly?’ Shepard asked, pulling away and taking Kaidan’s hand as he went. ‘Hell, no wonder you’re so uptight. That’s not friendship, Kaidan. That’s kind of the opposite.’

Kaidan let Shepard lace their fingers together, glancing in through a half-open door as it slid open and a few more asari poured out. It smelled like _something_ in there, but it wasn’t Red Sand they were sniffing. Kaidan almost choked on the fumes; even Shepard cleared his throat.

‘Not that one,’ Kaidan said. Shepard tugged him away from the room and the doorway and the smoke, the asari laughing behind them, private music muffled when the door slid shut with a gentle hiss.

He thought about where he might be now if he’d taken his mom up on her offer. He’d be sitting at one end of a long table in the country club dinner room, probably wearing one of his father’s jackets because he’d forgotten to bring something of his own. There’d be daughters and sons there, friends of his from growing up, pink-cheeked and fresh from an aromatherapy spa treatment. They’d be talking about the latest terraform project on Luna, or some asari singer who was all the rage on Illium.

It wasn’t that Kaidan didn’t care. It was just that Fain T’sar had been rising to fame while _he’d_ been getting the crap beat out of him for using his hands instead of his brain. There were no posters, no viral extranet marketing plans on Jump Zero. Kaidan had quite literally fallen off the face of the earth for a while, and the old place he’d left behind didn’t feel like his anymore now that he was back.

His mom didn’t understand why he couldn’t slide into his old life again, like a ship looking for dry-dock. But that was just it—she _didn’t_ _understand_.

Dad might’ve come closer. There were always the missions that went bad, Alliance Marines that never _could_ adapt to civilian life after the things they’d seen. The First Contact war had changed things for a lot of people. Eventually, Kaidan might be able to stop beating himself up for what was a pretty common affliction.

Shepard’s fingers tightened around his, drawing Kaidan out of his thoughts.

He was good at that. Not exactly a skill you could put on a job application, but Kaidan found it pretty useful all the same.

‘Thought I lost you for a second there, Kaidan,’ Shepard said.

Behind him, through the extra security grid, Kaidan caught a glimpse of one of the batarians Shepard had been talking about.

‘Were you serious about teaming up?’ Kaidan asked. The batarian wasn’t the only thing on his radar. They were getting close to a group of investors, young enough to have heaps of disposable income. Most of them were human, but there was a salarian near the center who kept rubbing his eyes. Dead giveaway. ‘If you weren’t, then humor me.’

Shepard raised his eyebrow, but Kaidan was more occupied with the swipe of his thumb, cold skin slipping under the hem of his shirt. He’d seen the dusters too.

‘Don’t tell me you’re turning career criminal on me,’ Shepard said.

‘Actually, I was thinking more…a lifestyle where no one ends up on a batarian slaving barge,’ Kaidan said. The salarian was watching them now, so he put his hand on Shepard’s neck, trying to look like the man in charge, a rich guy soothing down his junkie hookup. ‘Something to think about later, anyway.’

‘I’m done with thinking,’ Shepard said.

They kissed.

It had all the passion, all the spontaneity, of the first time out back by the _Inferno_ dumpster. The garbage was different; the music was the same. Shepard bit Kaidan’s lower lip and dragged it with his teeth for a while, while Kaidan held onto his collar, bringing him back for a second go after they were done with the first.

If all acting had been this easy, Kaidan wouldn’t have had such a rough time at the country club. Hell, it would’ve gone better at brain camp, too.

When he pulled away, Shepard’s eyes were half-lidded, hiding blown pupils, something sharp and blue and warm in the shadows. He had long lashes, which Kaidan had to’ve known about him all along, but he was only putting it into words right now, _really_ thinking about it. Shepard looked like he was winking; Kaidan _knew_ he was grinning. Then, Shepard ran his hands down the small of Kaidan’s back to his ass and gave that a squeeze, taking him in close like they were about to start dancing. It was hips on hips, a burst of bright heat, live like a solar flare or kinetic energy or something Kaidan couldn’t fight and couldn’t name.

‘C’mon,’ Shepard said, louder, not meant to be private. ‘Are you gonna hook me up or what?’

‘You know I’m good for it,’ Kaidan replied. He had to clear his throat. Kissing Shepard was enough to make his chest go tight, like it was the most important thing he’d ever done—even when he knew it wasn’t. ‘I just…want to make sure you get the good stuff. Don’t make a scene, okay?’

The batarians were watching them. So was the salarian, blinking rapidly, filmy lids coming down over his unfocused eyes.

When he sidled up to them, Shepard was still touching Kaidan’s ass, right on the curve, where the bottom met his thigh. It wasn’t a place Kaidan saw often or even thought about being there but Shepard couldn’t keep his hands off it.

‘I couldn’t help but overhear…’ the salarian began, after clearing his throat. ‘You’re looking to score, aren’t you? Yes, of course. Easy to see.’

‘Maybe.’ Kaidan looked at him over Shepard’s shoulder. ‘I can’t ask just anybody to hook me up, though.’

‘No, no; of course not.’ The salarian stepped in closer. ‘I would _never_ steer you wrong—if you have the money.’

‘Oh, I’ve got the money.’ Kaidan wondered if this should’ve come so easily to him—and when he was going to screw it up. It was only a matter of time and he knew it; asking himself if _Shepard_ knew it was even worse. ‘I’m good for it. But how do I know _you’re_ legitimate?’

‘ _Yeah_ ,’ Shepard agreed, sinking against him.

He was way too into this.

He still hadn’t let go of Kaidan’s ass.

That was okay, Kaidan thought. Better than it should’ve been. He didn’t want to admit it but he was even moving after the curve of Shepard’s palm, waiting to learn where his fingers were heading next. Shepard’s hands knew what they were doing—capable, crazy hands, not too big, not too strong and not too rough. A callus snagged on the fibers of Kaidan’s khakis and the friction sent a spike of want crashing into the baseline adrenaline, pulse going for a wild ride at his temples and throat.

‘New shipment; _very_ good stuff. I can’t say anymore… _now_.’ The salarian glanced to both sides. ‘Only a _small_ cut—for hooking you up. The best you’ll ever have.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Shepard said, rolling Kaidan closer with his hips. ‘What’re you waiting for, anyway? It’s not gonna get better than this.’

‘Yes, certainly not,’ the salarian agreed. ‘The finder’s cut is _minimal_ , too.’

‘So now I have to deal _you_ in? There’s always a catch,’ Kaidan said. The salarian rubbed the corner of his eye. He’d spotted the batarians—it was about time—so they had to move quicker than they were. Just not too quick. Kaidan didn’t want to seem too eager and blow the whole thing. Shepard must’ve realized that, because he sighed in frustration, letting it drag off on a low moan. ‘Okay,’ Kaidan said. ‘Fine. But we can’t do it here.’

‘ _Certainly_ not,’ the salarian repeated. ‘Follow—yes, follow me.’

He was eager to blow the batarians. Maybe he had some bad experiences or maybe he’d just heard half the stuff Kaidan knew.

Jump Zero didn’t have the latest asari music craze, but there were rumors everywhere. Every last kid in brain camp knew about Red Sand even better than the junkies, taking that knowledge from a different angle.

Shepard didn’t share the same experience and he couldn’t see into Kaidan’s head, but he trusted him enough to follow Kaidan’s lead. Maybe there was something to be said for that kind of immediate faith between people. Kaidan didn’t really know what it was like on the street, but he _did_ know what it meant to be on his own, with no one but himself to count on.

Peers could be allies— _just like you_ —but it was hard to trust them and liking someone wasn’t the same as knowing them. Kaidan thought about Rahna, how quickly the affection in her eyes had turned to mistrust, when everything she wanted or thought she wanted turned out to be something she never saw coming.

It was harder to picture her face tonight. The features came to him bland and indistinct, with none of the sharp nostalgia Kaidan was used to bracing against.

Shepard cleared his throat and Rahna’s image disappeared completely. Kaidan wished there was something he could do to bottle the clarity that came so easily to him when Shepard pulled his focus. Short of sticking closer than a quarian with his suit, Kaidan didn’t exactly see how.

The salarian was muttering to himself again. It was barely audible beneath the music and there didn’t seem to be much rhyme or reason to it. Kaidan couldn’t catch any names or valuable information—it might’ve been the words to the song for all he knew—but judging from the knit of Shepard’s brow, Kaidan wasn’t the only one paying close attention.

Of course he wasn’t. This deal for Shepard was more than an adventure, something he could leave behind at the end of the night for a soft bed and a moonlit view of English Bay. It was his life, and he’d asked Kaidan to be a part of it for a couple of hours, tops.

Regardless of his personal feelings on the risks and rewards, Kaidan had agreed.

Whether that was because he was _crazy_ or just crazy about Shepard, though…

They were being lead deeper into the club—past the VIP rooms and not into the alley like Kaidan had first assumed. But Kaidan had always known deep down that it wasn’t just the lower you went the worse things got. The higher up you were the more covering up you had to do.

It was the one thing he’d learned from Jump Zero that wasn’t personal. It just was.

Shepard squeezed his hip. They both knew this was it.

‘Ready to score?’ Shepard asked.

The salarian put his hand down for a finger scan, and the door rolled open.

*


	9. SHEPARD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaidan shows off.

Shepard didn’t get nervous. He got nerves and those were different, adrenaline that couldn’t _all_ be blamed on the body next to him.

Honestly, it was better than going into a tight situation like this one with Finch by his side. For starters, Finch would’ve never played along like this—Shepard might’ve been a bad dancer, but Finch didn’t even bother trying—and nobody would’ve bought he knew what money _was_ , much less that he had any of his own to spare.

So Finch was out. Kaidan was in. They had to squeeze into the room together, side by side, and while Shepard knew it was better to have a distraction on his end than a dead weight, he was still paying the same close attention to the former as he usually did to the latter.

Different name. Better looking. _Way_ better kisser. Shepard pretended to stumble just so Kaidan would catch him and even though he hadn’t been banking on it, Kaidan actually did, arms around Shepard’s waist.

He had good reflexes. Good instincts for when he used ‘em, too. Shepard had no idea what that was he smelled like—probably just expensive shampoo—but when they were so close he couldn’t help but breathe it in, clean and sharp and pretty sweet.

Kaidan’s eyes were wide, concerned, but Shepard’s little trip was nothing more than a part of the act. Junkies were live wires, sure, but they didn’t have plans, so as much as they were unpredictable, they weren’t a threat. The batarians outside—they were something else; Shepard didn’t want to waste time and make them think they needed to bust in firing live rounds into a tight space.

‘Sit, sit,’ the salarian said, gesturing to one of the couches lining the wall. There was a table and a couple of empty glasses Shepard could use if he needed a quick weapon. Other than that, they didn’t have much other than what they were born with.

Kaidan sat, bringing Shepard down with him. Their thighs were pressed together; Shepard ran his palm over Kaidan’s leg from his hipbone to his knee and back up again, giving it a squeeze with his fingers sliding around the curve toward the inside.

The salarian was watching them.

They had to really sell this in order to look like legit buyers.

When the salarian rubbed his eye, Shepard waited a couple of seconds, then did the same. He did it hard enough that white stars burst over the back of his eyelid, just like the white stars through the skylight in Kaidan’s bedroom.

After that, he focused on the guy in front of them, the way Kaidan’s muscles tensed under his hand when he pressed his thumb along the inseam of his khakis.

The guy at the table was bald with a hard mouth and a big nose, dark brows over it all. He was dressed nice, even nicer than Kaidan, which let Shepard know this wasn’t a one-time thing—an accident, a decision made in the heat of the moment that a risk was exactly what he needed to make it off-world.

That kind of spontaneity usually didn’t work out so well. It was dumb luck, and like Red Sand, that stuff never lasted for long.

‘So…’ Kaidan swallowed. Shepard could feel his heart slamming against his ribs, right against Shepard’s elbow. ‘You have any samples?’

Shepard squeezed his thigh for _good job_ and _good luck_ and _you’re doing great_ , and also because he wanted to.

‘Interesting clientele you’ve brought me,’ the dealer said, for the salarian’s benefit. Shepard was used to being treated like he was invisible; he didn’t so much mind it when people ignored him, but ignoring Kaidan meant this guy was one, an asshole, and two, a real professional.

He obviously thought there was nothing left, at least in the Sol system, to impress him.

His problem to deal with, then, when Shepard thanked him for that the only way he knew how.

Soon. But not yet.

‘You said you were looking to move product,’ the salarian said. Under the lights of the back room, his skin was a sickly gray-green. Or maybe that was healthy for a salarian—Shepard hadn’t studied the variance in their biology too much. ‘These are the most likely candidates I’ve seen all night. Credits obvious; need obvious. Between them and H-K buyers, you could gain a serious foothold in West Vancouver. Prominent territory; wealthy constituents. All with a little help from your friends, Donnel.’

The dealer gave him a look that shut him up real fast. It was a neat trick for a human to pull on a salarian and if Shepard wasn’t already inclined to keep an eye on the guy, that would’ve done it.

He didn’t recognize the name. He wondered if he should’ve.

And it was a funny word to use— _constituents_. As far as Shepard knew, that was a term that came out around election years and not too often otherwise. Weird that a guy dealing in Red Sand would have those kind of concerns on his plate.

‘You’ll forgive me being cautious,’ Kaidan said, breaking the silence with practiced ease. Shepard could’ve kissed him for that, but settled for nudging their legs together instead. If there was any better feeling than picking the right asset for the job, Shepard didn’t know what it was. Lying back in Kaidan’s bed, maybe. Watching the sky, watching his face when he came. ‘But…I got burned by the last guy I dealt with. It raises red flags when you’re too eager to sell.’

‘No more than when you’re too eager to buy,’ the dealer said.

Shepard figured that was his cue. They had a name now, and a face—the salarian contact had all but laid out a business plan for them. That would be enough for anyone. It had to be enough for Aria T’Loak, unless she was looking to have Shepard smuggle her product back in his nostrils.

Shepard slapped his thigh, the motion jerky, like he’d slipped and only just caught himself, turning to Kaidan in the process.

‘Is this guy for real?’ Shepard asked. Kaidan didn’t turn, but Shepard didn’t need him to. He could read Kaidan’s profile, strong and sure, attention focused on the power in the room. ‘That sounds like something a cop would say. No way he knows the market. I say we bail.’

He didn’t wait for that to sink in, for the salarian to start doing what salarians did best—arguing. The time for talking was over. He’d made the mark and the batarians were closing in and if they let the guy slip now, Shepard still had a little something extra on his side—like the pictures he’d snapped with his omni-tool, for example, angled _just_ right on top of Kaidan’s thigh. Just to show Aria he meant business and she didn’t have to bust his head in as thanks for all his hard work, blown right when he was landing in the docking bay.

Shepard had a name, he had a guy, so he had what he came for.

And now he was going to get the hell out of _Inferno_ before things got too hot to handle.

Kaidan was moving after him when the VIP room’s back panel opened up. Their new friend Donnel had extra muscle—who didn’t, these days?—and Shepard had timed their exit just a few seconds too late.

Not for the first time in _Inferno_ , strong hands closed around Shepard’s shoulders, jerking him back, nearly pulling him off his feet.

He was starting to hate Vancouver. He was starting to think Vancouver hated _him_.

‘Never say I didn’t show you a good time,’ Shepard said, swinging his elbow to the sweet spot underneath the chest armor of the guy behind him—so he could jam the metal into his ribcage and wind him, buy them a little more of the time they needed. His elbow cracked against something hard but it was a necessary sacrifice in order to win the war—or at least win the right to abandon ship.

It wasn’t in Shepard’s rulebook to do things halfway. But this went above and beyond the call of duty, everything he’d promised Aria and more. She could take care of the rest, leaving Shepard to take care of Kaidan and himself.

If he could.

‘The very best,’ Kaidan replied.

The beefhead at Shepard’s back grunted, losing his grip. Shepard reached for Kaidan, not exactly intending to shield him with his body or anything, just to make sure they stuck together.

And that was when the front door opened—with a few flashing lights, some smoke, and a whole lot of messy batarian gunfire.

To them, it was probably like shooting dustheads in an airlock. At least Shepard’s ribs weren’t limiting his mobility—and he had Kaidan to thank for that.

All Kaidan had to thank _him_ for was one wild night, a mess of trouble, bad dancing and a drink Shepard hadn’t even paid for himself.

Shepard grabbed Kaidan and they both went down. Donnel was cursing—Shepard didn’t blame him—and the ping of shots bouncing off armor and reinforced wall paneling was matched only by the glasses on the table shattering. Kaidan stumbled and Shepard shoved him under the table, the best natural cover they had, before he headed down after him.

Not before somebody’s latest round clipped him in the side of his head, though. He didn’t realize blood was pouring down his face until some of it got in his eye, turning his vision cloudy more than red.

It wasn’t the first time.

‘Batarians,’ Shepard said. He wiped some of the blood off with the back of his hand, which was about when he realized Kaidan was starting to glow.

‘Hang on,’ Kaidan said. ‘I’ve got this.’

Shepard didn’t have a choice. He had to listen.

It was…different, interesting, not so much a relief as it was the good kind of surprise, to rely on somebody else to bail you out of a bad situation for a change. Usually it was Shepard doing all the bailing, without any comparison to make it seem like effort. Shepard hung on—held on, more like—with his arms around Kaidan’s waist, while Kaidan threw his weight into a biotic charge, yanking them _both_ straight out from under the table, between two pissed off batarians, right into the hall where the nearest patrons of the _Inferno_ were all screaming murder.

‘Damn,’ Shepard said.

He had to admit, he was pretty impressed.

Kaidan’s eyes—usually dark, and Shepard liked ‘em that way—were glowing, too, white-laced blue, probably the same color those _Inferno_ drinks were trying to be. But they hadn’t got the color right, not even close.

‘Well,’ Kaidan said. The kinetic barrier around him rippled and shifted, so bright that Shepard couldn’t look at him too long or too close. Other customers didn’t seem to have that problem; _they_ were staring outright. ‘I didn’t want you thinking you were the _only_ guy who could show someone a good time.’

Shepard wanted to laugh, but his throat was too dry. Of all the people he could’ve picked out of the crowd that night, he’d landed on someone with a great ass _and_ enough power under the hood to make a drug dealer’s goons think twice. That had to be what it felt like to strike big in the Intergalactic Jackpot.

It was about time, too. Shepard was starting to think his luck only extended as far as not getting killed—and livingwas the basic lowball everyone could expect out of life.

Maybe he could stand to set his sights a little higher. Aim for the skylight, if not for the stars.

‘So that biotic thing wasn’t just a line to impress me,’ Shepard said. It seemed like a good time to let go of Kaidan so he did, goosebumps rising along his bare arms when he pulled outside the barrier.

‘Nope.’ Kaidan’s mouth did that twisty thing that meant he was trying not to frown. Then, he grabbed a napkin off a nearby table and balled it against Shepard’s forehead to staunch the bleeding.

It stung where he pressed in hard, but Shepard didn’t flinch.

‘And the Red Sand?’ It was harder to navigate the club with one good eye and Kaidan shimmering at his side like a damn sentinel, but Shepard managed not to slam into anything or anyone. The key here was not starting any new fights. He could trust Finch to have enough sense to go to ground when he heard a ruckus kicked up, and if he had questions later, then he’d just have to wait on Shepard to answer them.

In the meantime, all he had to do was keep moving.

‘Funny story,’ Kaidan said. He pulled the napkin away to check Shepard’s head underneath. ‘…Which is gonna have to wait until you get this looked at.’

‘I know this real great clinic with a view of the ocean,’ Shepard said, keyed up on adrenaline and all too close to burning out.

‘You’d better be careful,’ Kaidan said, ‘or I’m going to start thinking you can’t look after yourself.’

‘Too busy looking after you, I guess,’ Shepard replied.

Even through the blood, he was still grinning. He could wonder if kissing would be appreciated in this situation or not, but it didn’t matter what answer he came to either way. Kaidan licked his lips and Shepard had to do it, something that wasn’t about the back-rooms and the Red Sand and the show they’d put on for everybody—which was way better than the entertainment _Inferno_ had on the main floor. They should be paying _him_ for the free publicity. Maybe Shepard would speak to that turian bouncer, see if they could work out some kind of deal.

But all that was for later. Shepard was still working on right now.

He pushed past all the glow and the heat and the stuff he didn’t understand—didn’t have to, to know it’d worked for him—and when he was done Kaidan was breathless in a way even the biotics hadn’t made him.

‘We’d better blow this place,’ Shepard added, realizing too late he was breathless, too. ‘Unless you want to stick around, sign some autographs for our biggest fans.’

‘What about your job?’ Kaidan asked. ‘Don’t you have to…finish it or talk to somebody or…?’

Shepard shrugged, his field of vision narrowed down to nothing more than Kaidan’s face in front of him, although he could still hear the gossip starting up at their backs. They’d outstayed their welcome again, and something about it was all Shepard’s fault, how he kept fooling himself by letting himself think time actually stopped the closer he got to Kaidan Alenko’s mouth.

‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder,’ Shepard said. ‘Probably better if I lay low for a while. Meet up with my guys later, figure out just how in-demand I am from all this. The usual.’

‘Your guys.’ For some reason, Kaidan didn’t seem impressed.

‘One guy,’ Shepard admitted. ‘I’d introduce you to him, but he’s about as fun as our salarian friend back there and _way_ less attractive.’

‘Got any ideas for where we’re going, then?’ Kaidan asked.

Shepard started toward one of the exits. There was a narrow window of opportunity between everybody being too scared of you to come close and everybody being too scared of you to let you get away. They were still in the sweet spot before it switched over, but not for long, and Shepard’s timing was already off. He needed to keep his sights clear and focused, blood and all.

‘Like I said, I know this really great place,’ Shepard said. ‘But it all depends on if the guy I know there lets me in or leaves me hanging.’

*


	10. ALENKO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone calls Kaidan 'Pudding.'

Kaidan wasn’t going to leave Shepard hanging.

Too bad the lights were on at home when they made it back, the one in the kitchen that meant more than just a maintenance VI cleaning up in the living room, everything still dark on the upper level. His mom was there, back late from Shaugnessy, having a snack or checking her terminal for news from dad or both at the same time, probably humming one of the same songs that’d been playing in _Inferno_.

And Kaidan was bringing home a bleeding gang member after getting between trained bodyguards and armed batarians during—what else?—an under-the-table Red Sand deal.

They’d been the ones under the table by the end of it.

However much brain camp had cost, it hadn’t been worth it. Kaidan was an idiot, or crazy, or both.

‘We should go back to your place,’ Kaidan said.

He knew that wasn’t fair as soon as he’d said it.

Shepard had stopped bleeding but head wounds could be worse than they looked. And Kaidan didn’t think he had much in the way of medical supplies back at his place. Obviously.

‘Don’t think you’d appreciate the view too much, Kaidan,’ Shepard replied. ‘…Somebody’s home, huh?’

Kaidan didn’t want to talk about it. Also obviously. ‘Yeah. Looks like it.’

‘After everything—I’m hurt, Kaidan. I really am.’ Kaidan couldn’t tell if Shepard was grinning again in the darkness. His voice sounded warm. And Kaidan’s skin was definitely warm, too. ‘You think I don’t know how to sneak into a place without anybody on ground level knowing I’m there?’

‘Uh,’ Kaidan said. There was no way to mask the hesitation in his voice. Anyone would’ve picked up on it, not just a pro like Shepard. ‘That assumes I haven’t given up on thinking entirely for the night.’

‘And _I’m_ the one with the head wound,’ Shepard replied.

He was grinning. __

Kaidan wanted to have faith in the guy—and he _really_ didn’t want to be the one to bring down the mood, which was riding high all things considered, all head wounds taken into account.

But it was difficult, almost impossible, to picture anyone getting one over on his mother. And if they got caught, he’d have more than a broken curfew to explain.

‘Come on.’ Shepard bumped Kaidan’s shoulder with his own, creased leather jacket sticky with something—probably a spilled drink. At least, Kaidan hoped it was that, not more blood. ‘Big places like these always have maintenance tubing running out the back. Easy to climb, even for an amateur like you.’

‘What makes you think I’m an amateur?’ Kaidan said.

This date just kept getting better. How could anyone back down after that challenge?

They moved under cover of darkness, enough of a miracle that Kaidan could be grateful for it. Mom had finally gotten sick of the motion-activated lights coming on every time the sprinkler systems triggered, so she’d had them disconnected from the main grid a few months back.

Dad said it was crazy to sacrifice safety just to water a few early-blooming azaleas, but Dad was gone seven months out of the year, and what he didn’t know about Mom’s garden wouldn’t hurt him.

‘Should I be…disturbed that you’re so familiar with breaking into my house?’ Kaidan asked. It was chicken of him to smile behind Shepard’s back where he couldn’t see it.

That didn’t stop him.

‘Houses _like_ yours,’ Shepard said. ‘It’s an important distinction.’

He reached up, testing the strength of a trellis with both hands. Kaidan could see blood crusting over his head wound in the moonlight.

He might not need stitches, but he was probably gonna wind up with a scar.

He had a couple of others, one between two of his ribs on the side Kaidan hadn’t helped out with and one on the small of his back. Kaidan had a scar of his own, on his neck just beneath the hairline and above the nape, the kind of thing people noticed about each other when they wanted to. When every last detail was important, at least to their fingers.

Shepard’s hands closed around the vine, giving it one last, sharp tug. ‘Think you can keep up?’

‘I’d race you—if I had something to prove,’ Kaidan replied.

Shepard glanced back over his shoulder, flashing Kaidan a grin he was supposed to see this time. The blood on his cheekbone made it look sharper than ever. Kaidan moved in closer against the wall, watching Shepard instead of watching their backs.

There was nobody behind the house, but Kaidan couldn’t shake the feeling of being an intruder on his own home ground. Which, technically, he was. Shepard found a foothold and started up, not too fast but not so slow that it suggested he was sweating it, either.

That was another thing you couldn’t do with a few broken ribs.

When he was halfway up, Shepard stopped—not to catch his breath, but to wave Kaidan after him.

It was already the perfect night, Kaidan thought. What was one more detail to the whole crazy mess? If he was going to do it, he might as well do it all the way.

Another lesson he’d learned on Jump Zero, one they’d never expected him to take as far as he did or apply in _quite_ the same way.

Wasn’t he supposed to exceed expectations? Or was it always going to be about doing things by the book?

The right thing wasn’t always spelled out as clearly as it could be. It wasn’t a target on the shooting range or a set of instructions that came with your very first omni-tool. And Kaidan felt that uncertainty, the questions he’d never asked while he was being debriefed, creeping up the back of his neck with a quick breeze blowing in off the bay.

He grabbed a handful of the trellis, the flowers closed up during the nighttime, and started climbing after Shepard. It wasn’t that he was tired of going into places through the doorway and getting ambushed as a reward. It was a personal thing, something that didn’t need to have any deeper meaning.

At least, he hoped it didn’t.

Shepard was on the balcony waiting for him and Kaidan was sweating by the time Shepard grabbed his hand and hauled him over the edge. They were both breathing hard, Kaidan’s foot getting caught on the balcony rail, sending him sprawling into Shepard’s chest. Both of them went back against the wall, with a quiet thump that Kaidan hissed _shh_ over while Shepard bit back a laugh.

They were both close, so close, with none of the club stuff to get in the way. There was no mark, no job, no strangers to show off in front of. It was only them, Shepard looking at Kaidan instead of the view, Kaidan looking at Shepard instead of turning around to see what they were both missing.

‘Hey,’ Shepard said.

‘Hey,’ Kaidan repeated.

Shepard touched the side of Kaidan’s face, his other arm wrapped around his waist. There wasn’t any music. There weren’t any excuses. Every good thing had a drawback, a factor of uncertainty, enough to make Kaidan pause when he felt Shepard’s thumb at his chin.

To hell with waiting. Kaidan pressed forward, a surge that didn’t have anything to do with biotics, and kissed him.

He was always hungry after he’d used them and most of that went into the kiss, although it wouldn’t last and it couldn’t _really_ feed either of them. Kaidan knew what he knew—which was a lot more than he wanted to, some days—but it still didn’t factor down from his head to his chest, the hot, raw pull in his belly, burning up like a fuel fire when Shepard brought him closer.

Kaidan didn’t know him well enough to assume this was a habit. Get injured, then get off—he’d heard about stuff like that, sure. He obviously hadn’t been on the other side of the equation, worried about whether the next touch would bring pleasure or that reminding snap of pain, but Kaidan could handle it. The cut on Shepard’s head was easier to watch than a few broken ribs.

‘If I say you’re rubbing off on me,’ Kaidan began, lips brushing the stubble at Shepard’s neck, ‘is it gonna sound like a clever metaphor, or just wishful thinking?’

Shepard laughed, then sucked a breath between his teeth when Kaidan pulled him down between his legs.

Even though it wasn’t an answer to his question, Kaidan already knew it was about both. Aside from the literal practice—the friction of Kaidan’s armored weave against Shepard’s jeans—Kaidan was acting a lot younger, and a lot stupider than he had any right to.

In all good conscience, he could only blame about a third of that on Shepard. The rest was on him, a brain trained specially in camp to do so much more than just biotics.

There was a chill in the air this close to the water, this late at night. Kaidan could smell the salt from the ocean, hear the blare of boat-sirens as they passed one another in the harbor. Shepard tucked himself between Kaidan’s thighs like he belonged there, settling heavy for how skinny he looked. There was no way either of them was changing location anytime soon, warming each other up body to body.

Shepard’s hand moved from Kaidan’s face to his hair, fingers raking along his scalp. He tugged hard when Kaidan arched his hips, making them both gasp. It was almost worth it for the headache he knew was already on its way, pressure bearing down right between his eyes.

‘You wanna team up with me.’ Shepard’s voice was muffled at Kaidan’s throat, so quiet he nearly lost the words to the bay winds. ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten.’

‘A life of crime wasn’t _exactly_ what I had in mind,’ Kaidan said.

‘We could do other stuff,’ Shepard said. ‘We’d just need the life of crime to _pay_ for that other stuff.’

‘Uh-huh,’ Kaidan replied.

His comebacks were getting easier but not necessarily as good as they used to be. It was the second night in a row, nothing the same about it except for the people involved. There was a rhythm to that. It felt wrong in the right ways and right in some unexpected ones and Shepard pushed his hips forward while Kaidan pushed his hips back. Every time they rocked together there was this answer deeper inside; Kaidan couldn’t tell if it was his chest or his stomach feeling most of the heat. Maybe it was both again. Maybe _both_ was the dealbreaker here. Shepard braced his hands on Kaidan’s throat and there it was, Shepard’s thumb on the scar, letting Kaidan know he’d seen it, even if he wasn’t asking about it yet.

Kaidan shivered, all the way down his spine to the base, right between his hips. Shepard was getting messy but he wasn’t the only one, Kaidan’s hands on a belt buckle, trying to pull it loose when his own body kept getting in the way.

It didn’t matter. It was only the two of them, at least for the rest of the night.

And that could last forever, if they wanted it to.

‘Shepard,’ Kaidan said. He wanted to know something—but before he could ask, light flooded the balcony, blinding them both.

Kaidan’s arm went up to cover his eyes.

Shepard’s arm went up to cover Kaidan.

It was the weirdest thing, Kaidan blinking too hard to realize, Shepard putting himself between them and the single, bright beam from the strip lighting above. As if Mom hadn’t turned off the motion-sensors after all.

Or as if someone had turned them on because they knew there was somebody out on the balcony.

The door slid open. Kaidan lowered his arm, enough to see Mom standing there holding one of Dad’s Kessler Pistols. At least she lowered it when she saw Kaidan’s face.

‘Good thing I didn’t shoot first and ask questions later,’ she said.

Shepard cleared his throat. Kaidan realized his hands were still on Shepard’s belt, fingers tucked against his skin. ‘Wouldn’t have blamed you if you had,’ Shepard said.

Cocky. Anyone who didn’t know him better would’ve thought he was totally cool with it—which forced Kaidan to wonder if he really knew him as well as he thought, or why he thought he did.

It’d only been two days. Not even. Two nights when they were pretending to be other people for most of the second one, the show throwing the truth into relief, but was that _really_ it?

‘Mom,’ Kaidan said.

‘Well at least you were doing _something_ ,’ Mom replied. ‘Because I was starting to think—oh, my God. You’re bleeding.’

‘Just a…’ Shepard cleared his throat again, deeper, trying to tuck his shirt into his jeans at the same time, navigating around Kaidan’s frozen fingers. They’d been so warm before, but now they were like a deep freeze, an exploded pack of cooling reagent. ‘It’s a—looks way worse than it is. Head wounds are like that.’

‘And you know that because you get so many of them?’ Mom asked.

Shepard grinned, the hard grin from the club, not the soft grin from the backyard. ‘Fewer than a krogan, more than your average salarian. Head seems to be holding up all right, though.’

‘Hm,’ Mom said. She looked at Kaidan, which Kaidan had been expecting, with an expression on her face he hadn’t. ‘You should both probably come inside. Get something on that so it doesn’t get infected.’

‘I appreciate the offer,’ Shepard said. Kaidan could already feel him pulling away, but there was no getting out of this situation with a well-timed biotic charge. He couldn’t blast his own mom out of their trajectory and besides, she _was_ still carrying the Kessler IX. Kaidan had no idea what she could do with that. ‘But I should really be taking my cracked head and getting out of here. You know, while I still can.’

‘Yeah—but that’s not going to happen.’ Mom gestured inside with the pistol. ‘Even if you’re a bleeder, I don’t give a crap. Get inside. Kaidan will get the medigel and I’ll get the police on speed dial, if you’re thinking about trying anything.’

‘Like getting between you and that pistol?’ Shepard said. ‘I might be reckless, but I’m not _brainless_.’

‘Let’s do what we can to keep things that way,’ Mom said. ‘Before it all trickles out from your forehead. Kaidan— _medigel_.’

‘I’m not a dog,’ Kaidan said. He rubbed his shoulder like it was his injured dignity.

If there was anything more embarrassing than being caught on the balcony with a maybe-date by your own mother, Kaidan had just found it.

‘You’re lucky we don’t _have_ a dog,’ Mom said. ‘Or else you’d have dog bites to deal with on top of everything else. _Inside_.’

This time, when she gestured with the pistol, Shepard started moving. Kaidan still knew he was no expert in Shepard stuff, but he thought his movements looked stiff, like he was back to putting on a show for an audience of unknowns instead of one guy he was letting get way too close.

If anyone was gonna recognize that look, it was Kaidan. After all, it was what he’d seen the first night they met.

It shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did.

Shepard had no reason to feel welcome in the Alenko house—hell, even Kaidan didn’t feel at home there. But he was just selfish enough to want to pretendlike they meant more to each other than a way out of a jam and one night’s worth of fumbling on Kaidan’s bed. Two, if they hadn’t been interrupted. He’d never used that balcony for making out with someone before, and now he guessed he was smart not to have tried.

Mom had sharp ears. Maybe too sharp.

‘I knew a guy who kept a pet varren once,’ Shepard was saying. His boots sounded heavily on the polished floor. Kaidan remembered helping him off with them the other night, the holes in his socks, the look in his eyes. Being down at that level… It’d felt so good at the time. ‘He bought it off a krogan breeder. It _drooled_.’

‘Mmhm.’ Mom hadn’t lowered the pistol, but now that they were inside and under the lights, Kaidan could see the safety was still on.

So maybe she’d known it was him out there all along.

‘Best of friends, those two,’ Shepard added. ‘Till one day the guy woke up from a two-day hangover to find the little devil chewing his arm off.’ Kaidan scowled and Shepard looked right at him while he did it. It was hard to tell with the dried blood around his eye, but he might’ve been winking. ‘Turns out varren don’t always wait to see if their prey is dead before they take a bite out of you.’

‘That’s…gross,’ Kaidan said.

‘Urban legend,’ Mom said. ‘My husband’s in the Marines—so you’re going to have to do a lot better than that if you want to scare me.’

‘Why would I want to scare you?’ Shepard asked.

‘Same reason you’d want to stay outside instead of coming in and getting your head looked at.’ Mom nodded at Kaidan, who grabbed the standard issue medical kit out of one of the kitchen cabinets instead of leaving the room to get the Alliance-issued one from upstairs. He couldn’t take his eyes off this scene. He didn’t feel responsible but he didn’t want it to go down without him. That’d be way too dangerous. ‘Because you seem like the type. And not just because people are always knocking you over the head.’

Kaidan popped the top off the kit and fished out some bandage tape and civilian-grade medigel. It was all they needed, some antiseptic spray maybe if it was actually bad under all the blood. His hands were moving because they knew what to do better than the rest of him.

So much for the power of biotics. In fact, he didn’t feel superior to anyone in the room. 

His mom was talking to Shepard in their kitchen about his dad and some half-cocked story involving a varren.

His mom. And Shepard. _Together_ , in the same room.

‘Thanks,’ Shepard said, fingers brushing Kaidan’s as he reached for the medigel. ‘I think I can take care of this from—’

‘Kaidan,’ Mom said.

‘Right.’ Kaidan blinked. ‘I mean—I’ve got this. It’s the angle. You wouldn’t be able to see what you’re doing, so… I’ve got this.’

Mom looked okay with that. And Shepard leaned back, Kaidan remembering how short he looked just standing there.

‘Okay,’ Kaidan said, even though no one else had spoken up. He used the antiseptic spray and some of the gauze to clean the area, a burn cut clear through the hairline against Shepard’s scalp. It didn’t look like your average tripped-and-fell type of injury, and there was no way to tell what his mom was thinking about it. Kaidan concentrated on dealing with the cut first and the questions that were bound to come after, holding Shepard’s head steady at the chin, breath caught against the shell of Shepard’s ear. ‘It doesn’t look too serious.’

‘Your son should be a doctor.’ Shepard’s head bobbed when he spoke and Kaidan tightened his hold, rubbing gel over the burn until it cooled. The blood had stopped, finally, leaving nothing but an angry red mark over the skin and a stained jacket behind. ‘He’s got a real—uh—gentle touch.’

‘I can see that.’ Mom didn’t sound impressed. ‘I’m sure it’s the least he can do for not taking you to the hospital instead of here like he should have.’

‘Mom,’ Kaidan said.

‘Kaidan Albert Alenko,’ Mom replied.

Shepard started to laugh, then pretended he was coughing. ‘Thanks for the medigel, Mrs. Alenko,’ he said, patting himself on the chest. ‘It really does a body good.’

‘That jacket’s pretty stained,’ Mom added. ‘Why don’t you let one of the VIs take care of that for you?’

‘Because I overstayed my welcome about fifteen minutes ago.’ Shepard was already on the move; Kaidan couldn’t hope to get him to stay, didn’t think he should bother to try. ‘And as many times as I’ve been knocked over the head, it hasn’t scrambled my brains just yet. I…appreciate you not shooting me, by the way.’

He was going. He was leaving, and Kaidan knew there was no banking on a third accident as lucky as the first two. His life didn’t work that way. No one’s did, not even Shepard’s.

Besides, after everything that’d gone down in _Inferno_ , chances were Shepard was bailing out of Vancouver _tonight_.

‘Not so fast.’ Mom lifted the pistol again. ‘I _said_ , you should let one of the VIs take care of that for you.’

‘Thought that was more suggestion than marching orders,’ Shepard said.

‘Well,’ Mom replied, ‘you thought wrong.’

‘Mom,’ Kaidan said again.

He wasn’t too sure what came after that, which was only a problem when they both turned to look at him.

‘Yes, Pudding?’ Mom said.

Kaidan hadn’t gone down in a blaze of gunfire at _Inferno_ tonight, but just for a second, he kind of wished he had.

Shepard coughed again. Obviously whatever he had stuck in his throat was still giving him trouble. But some of the tension bled out of his shoulders all the same. Kaidan didn’t want to think his own mother had just thrown him under the transport to shift focus and let a stranger relax in her sitting room.

He didn’t _want_ to think it. That didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

‘Well I was _gonna_ ask you to lay off,’ Kaidan said. ‘But apparently Shepard’s not the one who needs a hand.’

‘Shepard.’ Finally, Mom put the pistol down. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere. Isn’t that nice? I don’t mean to embarrass my son, but we _did_ raise him to make introductions first and sneak into the house second.’

‘You pulled a gun on us,’ Kaidan said.

‘In self defense,’ Mom replied. ‘I thought you were burglars.’

‘ _Then_ you practically took Shepard hostage,’ Kaidan said, wishing he was as good with this as he was in a batarian gunfight. For someone who said she wasn’t looking to embarrass him, she was doing a pretty good job.

‘No way.’ Shepard was still relaxed, easy, that way he had that couldn’t be real—only it was. One of these days, Kaidan was gonna figure out his secret—even if he had to tear into defenses like a hull breach to do it. Although…that was gonna be hard, considering Shepard had a head like a krogan. ‘I’ve been in hostage situations before, and let me tell you, the view’s _way_ nicer here. Not to mention the hospitality.’

‘So, you’re charming,’ Mom said.

Shepard grinned, also in that way he had. All hard edges, but Kaidan could see it touch his eyes this time. They were bright all the way through, clear and warm.

‘Your mom’s cool,’ Shepard said, leaning in his stained jacket to poke his elbow against Kaidan’s side.

‘Great,’ Kaidan said. Just what every guy wanted to hear.

‘Just what every mom wants to hear.’ Mom held out her hand, flicking her fingers in toward her palm. ‘Now lose that jacket. If we don’t get to it fast, the stain’s going to set.’

Shepard stripped without any more arguing and Kaidan wondered how Mom had convinced him to do it so fast, so easy. Then he retreated into his own private hell—a place where none of this could touch him, only the heat of low-level embarrassment, but even that felt like something he was too old for now. Shepard rolled out his shoulders as he handed the lump of polyesters over, and Mom said, ‘Thank you, Shepard.’

‘You’re welcome, Mrs. Alenko,’ Shepard replied.

*


	11. SHEPARD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard doesn't belong. That doesn't stop him as much as it should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last part! But there will soon be a sequel, time and interest permitting!

There was no chance of spending the night in Kaidan’s bedroom now.

There was probably no any chance of that in the beginning—but Shepard hadn’t ever thought of it that way. Impossible had the word possible in it, after all; he’d told Finch as much before they’d taken this job. That had to mean something, like the whole idea of what they couldn’t do was actually based on what they could.

And Finch had called him totally fucking crazy.

Classic Shepard; classic Finch.

Shepard stayed in the living room instead of heading upstairs, which wasn’t even as comfortable as sitting on the cold edge of the hot tub in the master bathroom. Nobody’d known back then, just Kaidan, that Shepard was there. The walls couldn’t talk—even if some of the VIs could—and the secret was still up there, in the shadows on the tiles.

But Shepard was down here on the couch, waiting for his jacket to dry.

It wouldn’t be long now.

It was dark outside, a big picture window on the far wall giving an even better view of the bay than Kaidan’s balcony. Shepard didn’t like the angle as much, the perspective, but he couldn’t deny it was a good one, the big city lights glittering over the water and kind of looking like stars.

He knew they weren’t anything more than a reflection. Sooner or later, those lights would have to go out.

Shepard pressed his palms together, thumb against thumb, callus on callus. He took a slow breath, glancing over his shoulder at Kaidan, then back to the window.

‘Sneaking in usually goes better than this.’ Shepard’s voice sounded more like an intruder in the silence than Shepard felt like an intruder in the living room. ‘Guess I got…distracted.’

‘No kidding.’ Kaidan’s voice also sounded like an intruder—the only difference there was, no matter what it felt like in the moment, it wasn’t. That was what separated them, what kept Kaidan on one side of the couch and Shepard on the other. That, and the probability of Kaidan’s mom coming back down the stairs at any second. ‘…Me too.’

Shepard remembered that—Kaidan trying to get his hands down Shepard’s pants, under the belt Shepard should’ve ditched before he headed to the club, just one more thing that stood between them. The whole coming-from-different-worlds part was the big one, but it was everywhere, taking them both down every step of the way.

Shepard shifted on the couch, pushing his hands together between his knees, then stretching his arms up above his head.

‘And I guess we just weren’t meant to be partners in crime, either. What with your curfew and all.’ Shepard managed a grin. He didn’t look back at Kaidan again, rumpled hair and half-tucked shirt nobody had the heart to tell him needed straightening out.

Shepard would’ve done it for him, but again—the mom thing.

She’d been pretty cool not to shoot him. Wrong, maybe, but cool all the same.

Shepard needed to get out of the place before it suffocated him.

‘I keep telling you,’ Kaidan said, ‘it’s the _in crime_ part where we get tripped up.’

‘Yeah, you mentioned that.’ Shepard didn’t have the heart to start wondering where that train of thought lead. Just seeing the expression on Kaidan’s face, hopeful and cagey in equal parts, made Shepard’s skin prickle. Earlier that night he’d have said Kaidan wasn’t the type to hold back, but he wasn’t as sure about that now. The guy had managed to hide a big, kinetic secret from him and Shepard was usually better at picking up on those things—when he wasn’t letting himself get blindsided by the whole package. ‘If you’re looking to open a bed and breakfast on the waterfront or something, I’m not your guy.’

‘No kidding,’ Kaidan said. Shepard was starting to like the sound of his laugh, breathless and light. He’d never heard anything like it. He was starting to get the impression he’d never met anyone like Kaidan either, not so easy to pin down even when he was standing still on the dance floor. ‘No, that’s not what I meant. Just—there’s gotta be _something_ in between…’ He trailed off, looking upstairs. ‘Between _what we did_ tonight and opening a B-and-B in Kits.’

Shepard thought about Finch, whether he’d made it back to Gastown all right. He wasn’t anyone’s nanny but he’d gotten used to looking out for the guy, him and Torch, and the other members of the Reds who’d come and gone. They looked to Shepard for leadership, even if they’d sooner spit than admit to it.

He hadn’t done anything on his own in a long time. Even longer since he’d done something _for_ himself, just Shepard, with none of the other Reds attached to the receipt.

‘Tell you what,’ Shepard said. It went against his better instincts not glancing over his shoulder to check for Kaidan’s mom. ‘I get paid for this job, we’ll go somewhere nice. Off-world. I hear Omega’s—’

‘I know all about Omega,’ Kaidan said.

‘—not the kind of place you take a guy you want to impress,’ Shepard said. ‘Let a guy finish his sentence, Kaidan.’

‘Sorry.’ Kaidan was closer to the middle of the couch now. Shepard hadn’t even seen him move. ‘Guess I’m used to us getting interrupted. It seemed like one of those now or never moments, you know?’

Shepard knew.

He wanted to reach out and touch the back of Kaidan’s hand, one of those gestures other people had the time and the opportunity to indulge in. He could run his thumb over Kaidan’s knuckles, bring Kaidan’s fingers up to his lips, kiss them until they curled against his skin. It’d be real smooth, one of those moves Shepard always left behind once he hit the dance floor and forgot everything he knew, or at least everything he was supposed to.

It didn’t happen. There was too much in the way and Shepard was the one who had to live that distance, not Kaidan. Shepard was the one who had to go back to Gastown and past it, to East Hastings and the sirens and the next job, to whatever cut Aria tried to shank him on.

She was cool, but not Kaidan’s mom cool.

The two places seemed galaxies away, not a couple of miles. Shepard could’ve laughed, but he didn’t.

Upstairs, they heard a ding. ‘Sounds like my jacket’s ready,’ Shepard said.

‘Yeah,’ Kaidan replied.

Any second now his mom was going to come down those steps and waiting for what they both knew was going to happen meant they couldn’t even get started on something that might’ve happened. Not the way Shepard chose to live on a normal night, but this was no normal night.

And Kaidan was no normal guy. Shepard got that now. The assumptions he’d made—he’d been wrong about them. His fault, his deal, his aftermath.

‘Nice rolling with you, Kaidan,’ Shepard said. ‘While it lasted, anyway. And I’m not gonna lie—you did pretty good with that whole deal. I didn’t think you had it in you, but you pulled it off like a real professional.’

‘Thanks.’ Kaidan stood after Shepard, both of them bobbing up and down like hanar in the middle of a sentence. ‘I’d say it was fun, but…’

‘But that’d be an understatement.’ Shepard found that grin he’d been missing. Kaidan didn’t match it, his lips doing that thing again—not the only thing that made Shepard want to kiss them, but the first thing that had. When Kaidan’s mom _did_ come down the stairs, Shepard didn’t know if he should salute her or shake her hand or just get the hell out of dodge, although that last option seemed like the best he had.

‘You could always stay for breakfast.’ Kaidan’s mom stood next to her son, both of them looking pretty as a picture—like a short-frame vid ready to get hung up on the wall. They matched and Shepard didn’t; he’d been out of place the whole time, on his way out, and nobody was surprised when he finally sealed the deal. Not Kaidan’s mom, not Kaidan, and especially not Shepard. The moment they’d all been waiting for. ‘It’s pretty late. Pretty dark out there. And I’m pretty attached to that jacket now, too. Invested, you might say.’

She exchanged a look with Kaidan that said they were going to be talking about all this later. Shepard didn’t have anyone to answer to; if Finch was hanging around when he got back then that was all there was to it.

‘I’ve got somewhere to be,’ Shepard said.

Out of everything, it was the biggest lie he’d told. Not the only lie, but the first real one.

He headed to the door. Kaidan’s mom saw him out. Then, Shepard was a free-wheeler in the cool nighttime air, enjoying the scenery as he picked up his pace. This was the direction he’d been heading in from the start and he knew the way better than the back of his own hand or the new scar he’d picked up.

For the first time, he touched it, running his thumb over the shape it made. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t have to for him to know it was there.

He got three blocks. He should’ve gotten more.

But he was rusty, out of practice. Also crazy, according to some people. Maybe those people’d been right all along. He hopped the fence to the Alenko backyard and climbed the trellis to Kaidan’s balcony and tore the front of his jacket along the way, something he wasn’t expecting a VI to patch up again or anything like that. It all balanced out, what he didn’t have at the start of the night and what he didn’t have now—compared to what he _did_ have now, which was a little bit more than that.

Somebody’d forgotten to lock the balcony door. Shepard didn’t even have to jimmy it open. There was something to be said about things that were too easy—but this wasn’t easy at all.

Kaidan’s room was empty, leaving Shepard alone with his model ships. Moonlight glinted off their sleek shapes, illuminating a hull here, a flared wing and a swollen cargo bay there. Shepard knew them all, their names and their origins—there was a UT-47 Kodiak over Kaidan’s desk and two cruisers on the desk itself, one of them turian and one Alliance. You could tell the turian ship by where the CO’s quarters were kept, weighted to the back instead of dead center the way humans preferred. Shepard’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t reach to pick one up.

They weren’t his and there was no one to put on a show for.

‘…tomorrow,’ he heard Kaidan say, his voice muffled through the reinforced double-alloy door. ‘I promise. You know I can’t think straight when I have a headache—and I _swear_ there’s a good reason for what happened tonight.’

‘There’d better be,’ Mrs. Alenko said.

Her voice sounded farther away than Kaidan’s. That was good, because Shepard wasn’t sure he could hit the ground _and_ roll under Kaidan’s bed without making a sound.

The Alenkos were a sharp bunch. He didn’t feel confident in his ability to pull a fast one on either of the two he’d met, which was part of what made Kaidan so damn attractive to be around.

‘Goodnight,’ Kaidan said.

Halogen lighting—so different from starlight—fell across the floor as the door swung open. Shepard lunged for the balcony not to escape, but to shut the sliding glass behind him.

If he was going to act crazy, then he was gonna _commit._ No one would ever catch John Shepard ducking out before the third act.

He saw Kaidan’s boots first, then the rest of him. It wasn’t like there was anything different about him, in the same expensive blue shirt he’d been wearing in the living room—it didn’t match his eyes, but it didn’t have to. Kaidan wasn’t that kind of guy. His jaw was wound tighter than a turian’s on guard duty, and Shepard balled his hands into fists just to shake off the urge to go over and run his fingers over it until he loosened up.

‘Hey,’ Kaidan said.

If he was surprised, relieved, happy—even pissed—to find Shepard there, he didn’t look it. Underneath Shepard’s disappointment— _he_ didn’t know he was coming back, so why should Kaidan?—he was more than a little impressed.

Kaidan kept doing that. Figuring out what Shepard’s expectations were so he could shoot clean through them.

‘Hey, Kaidan.’ Shepard shrugged out of his jacket, feeling over the tear. ‘I ripped my clothes coming up. You wouldn’t happen to have a sewing kit lying around, would you?’

‘I think there might be one in the master bathroom,’ Kaidan said.

Good one, Shepard thought. Real funny. Clever, cute. It must’ve been what people thought about _him_ whenever he came up with the perfect line.

It used to be so easy.

Shepard dropped the jacket over the back of a chair. ‘I didn’t really come here about the jacket,’ he said.

Kaidan locked the door behind him. He didn’t lean against it for support but he didn’t pull away from it either, and Shepard took a steadying breath, taking the time to take him in, up and down and up again.

Kaidan looked good from all angles, front and back, even if there was one view Shepard always preferred. The cock of his hips, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling with his own steadying breath—they had some things in common, angles and attitudes, strengths and weaknesses. Kaidan reached up to his collar, sleeves rolled over the elbow, arms lean and hard with shifting muscle, and loosened one of the snaps with a muffled pop. He swallowed as the fabric fell open, as Shepard watched his fingers push it aside over his throat.

The skin was soft. Shepard knew what it felt like under his mouth. He licked his lips at the idea and Kaidan did the same thing a few seconds later, repeating the action, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip in one slow mirror image. Shepard felt it all the way to the base of his spine, hotter than batarian gunfire.

Kaidan moved to the second snap. The fabric, stiff as it was, fell open over his collarbone. Shepard wasn’t one for watching action happen instead of being a part of it—but he wasn’t one for spending two nights in the same nice place, either.

He took a step forward. It was that easy—easier than walking away, even. Harder than walking away, too. It was a whole lot of things at the same time, which made sense, considering who he was dealing with.

Kaidan Alenko. Living, breathing, tight-assed contradiction.

Shepard grinned and this time it was something he meant, not something he wore.

The rest of that stuff was over on the chair with the jacket. He’d torn it on his way in and now he couldn’t wear it anymore.

So Shepard got in close enough to put his hands on Kaidan’s hips. From the way Kaidan was leaning back, he almost looked shorter. Shepard could look down at his face, see him lick his lips again, the way his eyes got bright and it had nothing to do with the strobes or the biotic glow or any of that stuff.

‘I’m not opening any B and B,’ Shepard said.

‘Do I look like that type?’ Kaidan asked.

It was an old line and no, he didn’t. Shepard had no idea what he _did_ look like, only that Shepard should’ve been kissing him. But one split second was all it took for Kaidan to get there first, leaning up, pulling Shepard down, kissing him hard enough Shepard swore he could feel some teeth.

That Kaidan Alenko. He was full of surprises.

Shepard’s arms came up around the small of Kaidan’s back. He didn’t have the chance before so he did it now, palming Kaidan’s ass, holding him but keeping it as real as he could by giving the curved muscle a testing squeeze. When the door rattled, Kaidan’s elbow banging against it, they stumbled away and closer to the bed in the middle of the room—if they didn’t, they ran the risk of Mrs. Alenko coming in and bringing a shotgun this time.

Kaidan was hard. Shepard was in the same position, no denying that. There was friction, between Kaidan’s khakis and Shepard’s jeans, but they needed that. It was what made it so good.

‘Is that a Kowloon Class Freighter in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?’ Shepard asked, teeth leaving sharp, rounded grooves against Kaidan’s throat.

His skin was pale, a tiny red nick under his jaw where he’d cut himself shaving—again. Maybe unsteady hands were a biotic thing, or maybe it was a Kaidan thing. Either way, Shepard was gonna offer to help next time. 

Kaidan laughed, that light sound like the gasp of a decontamination chamber. Shepard was gonna have to work on him, see if he could coax out a few real deep ones, straight from the belly. Or maybe not, Shepard thought, hooking his thumbs through the loops on Kaidan’s slacks where he wasn’t wearing a belt. The sound was growing on him. Like all of Kaidan Alenko—it wasn’t what Shepard expected, but it was getting harder to imagine going without it.

‘You know, I’m starting to think you only like me for my model ships,’ Kaidan said.

He gave Shepard a push that was more of a suggestion, moving with it when Shepard dragged him forward. Gravity didn’t always work for him, but when it did, Shepard didn’t take it for granted.

This wasn’t his room, but Shepard was still ready for the bed when he bumped into it. First rule of every entrance was mapping out the exits. He’d made his own swift retreat from the place without waking Kaidan up. Now he had _two_ Alenkos to get around, but Shepard wasn’t going to let that stop him.

He never could back off from a challenge.

Shepard went over on his back, taking Kaidan down with him. They had a soft bed to land on, which hid the nature of the move—a flip he’d learned from that turian friend of his. Kind of a shame he’d wound up off-world now. Shepard had never met a better sparring partner.

He brought his knees up on either side of Kaidan’s hips, giving him a friendly squeeze. His hand went around the back of his neck, covering the scar there, thin and raised where it retreated into his hair. Just another reminder that Kaidan wasn’t the uncomplicated rich kid Shepard had been looking for that night in _Inferno._

He was way better.

He shivered when Shepard touched him, too, not because Shepard’s hands were too rough or too soft, too big or too small. He shivered because they knew where to go and how to get there, taking their time in mussing Kaidan’s hair up all the way from the back of his head to the crown.

‘Easy for you,’ Kaidan said, trying to shake it out. ‘You don’t know what it’s like, keeping that buzz.’

Some of the hair in the front fell over his forehead, hiding the skeptical wrinkle above his nose but not the glint in the shadows of his eyes. There was promise there—kind of like a distant star, Shepard thought, one of the real bright ones, also one of the farthest away. Shepard got caught up in the comparison for a few seconds longer than he should’ve, and Kaidan caught him staring and asked, ‘What?’

‘Just admiring the view from your room,’ Shepard said. ‘You know, it’s pretty great up here.’

‘I don’t know how you do that.’ Kaidan blinked and the moment was gone like it’d never happened—but they both knew it had. That was what they’d be able to keep, more than a few scars and, in Shepard’s corner, a couple of lousy old credit chits, _if_ Aria T’Loak decided she was in a good enough mood to pay him.

‘Me neither,’ Shepard said. ‘Just winging it.’

‘That’s encouraging,’ Kaidan replied, so skeptical, biting his lower lip. It was already swollen from how hard Shepard had been kissing it so he kissed it more for good measure. He pulled Kaidan down and Kaidan went with him, making other noises now, up high in the back of his throat.

He wasn’t all that heavy but there was something about the weight he did have, pinning Shepard in place underneath him, Kaidan biting Shepard’s lower lip and rocking against his hips, that made Shepard feel like he actually had some kind of connection with earth. Or some kind of gravity keeping him down, down but not out.

It didn’t always work for him.

It didn’t always have to.

Shepard got his hands under the hem of Kaidan’s shirt, then shifted course and moved over his ass instead, Kaidan’s fly open, his thighs shaking, the muscles so damn tight. He touched the slide of flesh where they fit into his hips and he didn’t have to look to see the shadows, the flush on Kaidan’s skin, the way everything was goosebumps all over. _Shepard_ was doing that; it was something he could point to and put his name on and it wasn’t about pride. It was about accomplishment.

It was about feeling good in the moment, about the shape of Kaidan’s body under his palms, how his breathing hitched when Shepard squeezed. There were all the places Shepard still couldn’t touch but he was hard just from kissing and touching the places he could, the feel of Kaidan’s teeth biting hard at his lips, sucking at them, wanting more. Wanting everything.

Yeah, Shepard knew a little something about wanting everything, didn’t he?

When he closed his eyes, there were no stars on the backs of his eyelids. He could hear Kaidan trying to keep quiet and almost failing, or almost succeeding—depending on how you wanted to look at it. He could feel the base of Kaidan’s spine, the dimples flanking it, the dip in the center that led to the ridges of his vertebrae. And when he pulled his fingers around to the front he could feel the hot skin on Kaidan’s chest, shirt pushed up by Shepard’s wrists, one nipple rolling stiff under his thumb.

‘Shepard—’ Kaidan said.

‘John,’ Shepard told him. ‘Sounds a little weird when you—you know.’

‘Yeah,’ Kaidan agreed. Then he said it again, _yeah_ , and it wasn’t about agreement, just wanting more.

Shepard could do that for him. Give it to him, even, although he’d already established he wasn’t the making out in the living room type or the B and B type.

Narrowing down what he _wasn’t_ worked better than nothing. Eventually there wouldn’t be anything left but what Shepard was, and once he figured that out, he’d have it made.

Kaidan’s hands worked their way under his belt again, only this time there were no interruptions. The buckle came loose with a practiced twist, proof that they’d been in this situation enough for Kaidan to learn something.

Maybe he’d even be able to use it in the future. No one could ever claim Shepard hadn’t done them any favors.

‘This is gonna sound crazy…’ Kaidan’s thumb flicked the button at Shepard’s waistband open, fingers steady on the zip-fly. ‘…but I’m kind of glad my mom was here. Not that things went down perfectly or anything, but it—it got that out of the way, you know? Now neither of us has _meeting the parents_ hanging over our heads.’

‘Right,’ Shepard said. He flipped his hand on Kaidan’s chest, giving his nipple a squeeze, enjoying the shudder that followed. ‘Because that’d send me running for sure.’

‘Could be.’ Now that there wasn’t anything in the way, Kaidan’s fingers were cold against Shepard’s hips, balance shifting as he tugged his pants down over them. ‘You never know what’ll be the straw that breaks the elcor’s back. Figuratively speaking.’

‘Bringing up the elcor _now_?’ Shepard asked. If he kept talking, he could hide how breathless he was, how the determination in Kaidan’s eyes was better than a biotic charge ending in a punch to the sternum. He hooked his leg around the back of Kaidan’s calf and pulled his hips up, thrusting lazily into the touch. ‘ _Mixed admiration and fear: that’s pretty brave_.’

‘ _Shepard_ ,’ Kaidan said. It sounded better than John for scolding.

And Shepard was being an asshole. He didn’t need Kaidan Alenko to tell him that.

‘All right.’ Shepard pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, hiding the hiss he almost freed when Kaidan took care of his briefs. He wasn’t sold on the idea of giving up leadership but he had to admit, there was something downright exciting about not knowing what came next. Maybe just this once, he could let someone else take the cockpit. ‘No more mouthing off. Whatever you’ve got, I’m all yours.’

‘Yeah,’ Kaidan said. ‘That’s kind of what I was hoping, actually.’

His mouth was crooked. Shepard’s was dry. He didn’t have a chance to prepare himself for what happened next, Kaidan rolling Shepard’s briefs right above his knees and holding his dick in one hand, pressing his lips to the tip almost a second later.

He wasn’t wasting any time.

He took charge of it like he’d said back in the club, _hold on_ , and Shepard had, trusting him on nothing more than _had to_ and _no choice_ and _seems legitimate_. Now there was only the bed to hold onto with one hand, Kaidan’s head with the other, Shepard really messing up his hair that way. It needed a cut, but it looked good like this, even better when some of it fell against Shepard’s stomach, breath hot at the base of his dick, Kaidan palming his balls.

Now it was Shepard’s turn to try to keep quiet, to sort-of get there, biting his lip while Kaidan sucked him off. Shepard had no idea how much he knew, how much he didn’t know, only what it felt like: clumsy and wet and hot and incredible, his hips jerking around because there was only so long he could hold on for before he had to let go.

He did, no warning, feeling guilty but accepting that was who he was. Kaidan whimpered; the sound hummed against the vein of Shepard’s dick. A few more touches, Kaidan’s knuckles pushing the vulnerable skin between Shepard’s balls and his ass, and that was it. It was everything. It was over but it didn’t feel over, Shepard just trying to make it last.

Kaidan cleaned him up after. Shepard remembered that, how polite he was. He watched Kaidan lick his lips, thoughtful, hand braced on the mattress, then decided why the hell not.

He pulled him down for a kiss, tasting himself in it. A little ego had to go a long way on earth, even longer out in space.

Kaidan settled in between his legs, sprawled out over his chest. He really was heavier than he looked. ‘So,’ Shepard said. ‘You want me to—’

‘No.’ Kaidan’s lips curved higher at one corner than the other. ‘I want you to save it for next time.’

‘I don’t know, Kaidan.’ Shepard could still feel Kaidan’s erection pushed against his hip and where the elastic of his briefs was tight against his thighs, stretching between his spread legs. He could feel cool air on his stomach and hot air from Kaidan’s mouth on his throat, the tickle of Kaidan’s lashes on his jaw when Kaidan closed his eyes. There was no running from this, no easy out. ‘You sound pretty confident about that.’

‘My mom makes a pretty good breakfast,’ Kaidan said, ignoring the rest of it. ‘You should stick around to try some.’

‘And give your mom the perfect chance to use that Kessler?’ Shepard asked. ‘Talk about meeting the parents. Wouldn’t want to take your breakfast away from you, anyway. You’re a growing boy.’ He ran his hand over Kaidan’s ribs, then let it rest there, skin to skin. ‘You need it.’

Kaidan laughed—it came from his belly, although it lost most of its strength before it made it out of his throat. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Fine. But you owe me—and not just for the Red Sand deal, either.’

Shepard knew it. He didn’t have to answer. He pressed his lips against the corner of Kaidan’s temple, watching the model Alliance Cruiser and the shadow it cast on the far wall. He wasn’t facing the right direction to see English Bay or the stars, just that model ship, all the details lovingly crafted. If he squinted, it was like he was staring at it in a far-off docking bay.

‘Hey,’ he said, Kaidan’s breath already starting to even out.

Kaidan mumbled something. It sounded like a _yeah?_ So Shepard rolled with it, rolling his hips with it too.

‘I know you’re not the type to kiss and tell,’ Shepard said. ‘And you’re not the type to open up a B and B, either. But are you the type to enlist, Kaidan?’

‘Are you _old_ enough to enlist, Shepard?’ Kaidan asked, more awake than he’d been a second ago.

Shepard shrugged. Age was nothing but a number, and it wasn’t something he’d let stop him before.

Numbers could be fudged and recruiting agents could be charmed. Shepard had a personality tailor-made for getting what he wanted, not to mention the skills to back up whatever promises he gave. He didn’t know what plans Kaidan had for himself, but it had to be something better than _Inferno_ every night—and waking up alone every morning.

‘Great,’ Kaidan said. ‘One night with my mother and you’re already looking to get off-world.’

‘I’ve had pistols waved in my face before, Kaidan.’ Shepard leaned his chin against Kaidan’s shoulder, feeling sleep as it tugged him down. ‘Just never by someone I actually wanted to impress.’

‘Yeah, that…does make all the difference,’ Kaidan said, already drifting.

Even half asleep, Shepard couldn’t argue with that.

**END**


End file.
